Song of the Mockingjay
by HeartOfParadise
Summary: When a twelve-year-old is picked as the girl tribute of District Eleven, an exciting adventure and tragedy lies in wait for her. Swift-footed and intelligent, little Rue enters the Hunger Games with only the hope to survive. And perhaps she can survive.
1. Chapter 1: The Unfortunate Chosen

I slip out of the house as the first light comes through our windowsill, unable to stay a minute longer with those nightmares. Running soundlessly down to the Meadow and straight to my hiding place, I sit down with the empty basket beside me. It is still dark here, the sky marginally lighter than the pitch black night that graces District Eleven. I have hoped that the terrifying visions will not follow me here, but in the soft scurrying of animals I can still hear the battle cries of the Hunger Games tributes.

With one hand against the gnarled tree for support, I force myself to breathe slower. _Rue, think about your chances. A meagre eight slips in a bowl that contains more than half a million. You'll be okay._ Shakily I repeat the last part out loud, over and over.

"You'll be okay, Rue," I whisper to myself, "You'll be okay. What are the chances? You'll be okay."

Eventually my hands stop shaking and my voice becomes steadier. I take a last deep breath before stepping out from my hiding place, ready to get on with the day's work. The sun has come up higher now, streaking the sky with a soft orange glow. I allow myself a moment to drink in the sunrise, and am surprised to find myself smiling. _In a world with something as beautiful as that, surely nothing can be that terrible, _I tell myself as I pick a basketful of wild berries. Perhaps I will be okay.

The house is teeming with noise by the time I get back. A big breakfast lies on the table, eight bowls of porridge made from our ration grain. The sight of that steaming bowl makes my stomach rumble loudly. The rumbling produces a tinkling round of laughter started by my little sister, Willow.

"Hey, I'm only hungry," I say to her, poking her tummy teasingly, "Bet you are too."

She giggles and tries to poke me back, but I am too quick for her. Darting over to the bench, I took out three handfuls of berries and drop them in a rusty bowl. Rose runs after me, followed by my four-year-old brother, and I easily dance out of her reach. Once outside, I run the water pump next to our house to wash the wild fruit. The rusty metallic screech as the pump levers moves down suddenly brings back the nightmares, and I bite my lip in order to not cry. I have forgotten about it in that brief moment with Willow, but all my fears are back.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" asks my mother, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realise she's talking to me.

I want nothing more to tell her the truth. I want to run into her arms and tell her that I am terrified of being twelve, of having to be part of the reaping. But she has enough burdens on her shoulders as it is, and after all I am the oldest child. It's times like this that I wish I have an older sibling, an older brother who will protect me or an older sister who will look after me. I try for a small smile and turn around to face her.

"Never better," I lie and push past her with my bowl of berries, hoping she didn't catch on to the waver in my voice.

Somehow the rest of the morning passes me by in what feels like seconds. By the time I finish preserving the berries it is already midday. We sit down to an unusually silent lunch, passing around slices of coarse ration bread and sharing a small cheese. It is a feast really, but knowing that I stand a chance in getting picked as a tribute makes the food that much less appealing. Mother guides me into the bedroom right after we finished. It is time to prepare for the reaping. The new outfit lying on my pallet is prettier than anything that I currently own, a sky blue blouse paired with a creamy skirt. It must've costed a small fortune, but I guess the cost is not too much if you count how many times it will be worn. That's the good thing about having five girls; anything that's mine will be my sisters'. It's just ironic that I may be wearing my best dress to my death.

At last it is time to leave. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach as I step out into the front room, my hands fluttering nervously around my newly-combed hair. Father tells me that I look beautiful, and so I make a show of twirling and smiling for him. I dance a little with each of my siblings, even with little Violet who is only three. But I can't shake the sickening feeling inside me, and it seems as though I am the one clinging on to dear life when four-year-old Fern thrusts his hand into mine.

"Oh Rue, you'll be back here before you know it," says my father lightly, "You don't have to drink in every single detail right now, love."

I shake my head ever so slightly, but my feet are already pulling me forward to the Square. Turning my head one last time, I whistle four little notes and wait. A chorus of mockingjays answer my song. It seems like a promise, a wordless way of saying _I'm safe and I'll be back soon. _I dearly hope that this is the case.

* * *

I give the woman across from me a small smile as she takes down my name for registration, trying to appear brave and cheerful. Even though I'm standing with the twelve-year-olds, I am still dwarfed by the girls behind me. Which says a lot about my chances of surviving should I be picked for the Games. The registration woman clearly realises this too, for she gives me a sad smile as she points me towards my designated area.

"I'm sorry," she mouths, and before I have time to reply the surging crowd pushes me away from the registration area.

The atmosphere of the square is palpating with fear and grimness, with rows of ashen-faced boys and girls standing shoulder to shoulder. I slip into an empty space next to a girl I vaguely know, and proceed to scan the edge of the assembly area for my family. The bobbing head of my mother guides my sight to them, her faded headscarf a dot of scarlet in a sea of dark hair. I stand on my tiptoes to wave to them, and they each blow a kiss back at me. Father's face is pained; I know he is blaming himself for each of those rations I brought home on my twelfth birthday and the months in between. It's not his fault though, far from it. I had decided myself to take the tessera against my parents' wishes, and now, for the first time, I'm regretting it. But the happy glow from my siblings' eyes helps me squash down these selfish regrets. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Rue. They'll survive for another year at the very least, and that's all that matters._

Two little taps on the microphone brings my attention away from my family and towards the stage. The ridiculous District Eleven escort, Aqua Stynes, is standing expectantly in front of the microphone. I wonder yet again how she can manage to stand on those sky-high heels, and how her thin neck can support that monstrous blue wig on her head. But that is beside the point. My fists clench at my sides as she begins to speak.

"Welcome to the Seventy-Fourth annual Hunger Games!" she gushes in that sickly sweet voice of hers, "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

I tune out after this greeting, my stomach already too filled with butterflies to listen any further about the Hunger Games. Eventually she passes the microphone to our Mayor, who proceeds to make the customary speech about the Games' history. I close my eyes as the video capturing the pain of the Rebellion comes up on screen.

"And now, to the part you've all been waiting for," says Aqua as she plucks the microphone from the Mayor's hand, "As always, ladies first."

Breaths are held as she plunges her perfectly-manicured hand into a huge glass bowl. She takes her time with the picking, swirling her wrist this way and that before settling on a single slip of paper. She makes a show of unfolding the paper, letting each second slip by as the tension builds up in the Square. She may be good for not much, but Aqua Stynes sure knows how to do her job.

"Rue Thornton," she announces to the Square after an excruciating silence.

Heads snap my way, their eyes all filled with relief and pity. Relief that they are safe for another year, and pity for me and my destined death. Because I will die; no one from District Eleven have made it back since Chaff, and that was a good thirty years ago. My chest feels like it's going to burst from lack of oxygen, and no matter how much I try I cannot let go of the breath I am holding.

"Rue Thornton, please come up," Aqua says again.

What am I thinking, waiting for all this to disappear as though it's just a nightmare? It's utterly foolish, except I can't help but hope that she will send me back once she sees me. _Not you, sweetheart, _I imagine Aqua saying, _Didn't you know there is another Rue Thornton here in District Eleven? She's the one who will be District Eleven's tribute; you can go back to your family now._

Obviously that did not happen. I have learnt to breathe again on that short journey from my standing place to the stage, although my breathing is still very much ragged. I hide my shaking hands behind me as I face the crowd full of relieved children, trying hard not to look at my family. I know what is coming next, although it seems like a pointless ritual. Smiling sadly at me, Aqua turns to the Square and asks if there are any volunteers. An eerie silence envelopes the crowd, and my heart drops. Of course no one will volunteer. A sob breaks out from my mother as Aqua raises my hand high, announcing that I am the girl tribute from District Eleven. It is all official now. There is no way back.

I stand as though in a trance, and wait for the boy tribute to be picked and for this whole thing to be over. Aqua do not drag out the announcement this time; I guess she senses that District Eleven have had enough of the drama. I do not recognise the name that she calls out, but I know immediately who the boy is when I see his massive hulk walking towards the stage. Thresh, an older boy who prefers to work alone in the fields. A boy big enough and strong enough to crush me with his little finger. I really don't stand a chance.

I extend my hand shyly when Aqua requests that we perform the customary tributes' handshake, hoping that my fingers won't be crushed by his huge ones. Thresh's hand is surprisingly gentle though, and I work up enough courage to lift my eyes and face him. His golden eyes are sad, with flashes of anger that I'm sure is directed silently at the Capitol and their cruel joke. He squeezes my hand, as though wanting to pass some of his strength to my wisp of a frame. I give him a tentative smile, a tiny one because the muscles at the corners of my mouth fail to move up anymore. _Thank you, and good luck Thresh._

"Let's give it up for Rue and Thresh, tributes of District Eleven!" says Aqua loudly, breaking the moment.

Slow claps start from the edge of the Square, although I know people are far from the mood of celebrating. I scan the Square for the first time since my name was called out, looking for my family and trying to memorise them before my time's up. Anise is looking straight at me with her right fist on her heart, her seven-years-old eyes much older and sadder than they're supposed to be. Slowly she reaches that fist out, uncurling her fingers and directing them towards me. The rest of my family copy her, from Ma and Pa to Lilith, Willow, Fern and Violet. _Go with our love, _they say with their gesture and streaming eyes.

Aqua puts her hand lightly on my shoulder in that painful moment, and guides me gently offstage and towards the Justice Building. Thresh is right behind me, his footfall heavy. My time in District Eleven has just been reduced from infinite to a mere hour. I just want to curl up in a ball and cry, but I don't even have time for that. I think sometimes people forget that being twelve is still being a child, a vulnerable child who is definitely not ready for the slaughtering nightmare of the Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbyes

They tell me that I have exactly five minutes with each of my visitors. I don't know if that means I have five minutes with my family altogether, or if I have thirty five minutes with them since there are seven in my family. I am hoping for the latter, although I don't know if I can deal with leaving them after that. Before I can ask about it, the Peacekeeper has left and I am all alone inside this room. Alone and waiting.

The first person to come to my door is Raven, a skinny boy who has been my best friend since forever. He bursts through the door and almost knocks me over with his hug. The whole hugging thing is not like Raven at all; he's usually one who steers clear of girly ways of showing affection such as the tight embrace he's locking me in right now. My arms are pinned tightly to my sides, and despite my efforts I cannot return his hug properly.

"Let me go, Raven," I say, wriggling in his arms, "My arms are numb."

"I won't let you go," he tells me, all the while releasing his grip around me, "Not to that godforsaken place."

"What are you going to do about it? Set our mockingjays on the Capitol?" I say sarcastically, a tone of voice that is very uncharacteristic of me.

"Rue," he says softly, evidently saddened by my strange outburst at him.

"Sorry, Raven. It's just..."

"That you're terrified?" he completes my sentence, "God knows I'm terrified, and for you it must be a gazillion times worse. I wish I could go instead of you."

"Don't be stupid," I say, "I'll go and be back here before you know it."

"But you're tiny Rue."

"And you are any bigger than me? Come on, you know how good I am at hiding and surviving. I'll make it."

"I hope so," he says, his voice small, "Just hide and stay alive, promise me that? Let the others kill each other, you just stay in those trees of yours and don't come down until it's all over."

"I'll try," I tell him, because I'm not sure if I would be able to keep that promise of staying alive.

Raven says nothing to that, his head bowed and his eyes avoiding mine. We sit in silence for a while, not wanting to talk about anything because there's nothing to say that won't bring on a bout of pain. He reaches his hand out to me after some moments, and I hold on to it so tightly I must've cut off his circulation. It feels like we're so much older, like two adults sharing their fears and their pain rather than two children hanging on for dear life.

"I'm so scared, Raven," I confess to him, "I don't want to go."

_And I don't want to die._ I don't say it, but I'm sure Raven understands my unspoken words. He grips my hands tighter. Suddenly he straightens as if he remembers something, and drops both my hands in order to search through his pockets.

"Here, you have to take this," he says as he gives a roughly carved star, "I was going to work on it some more, so that you could have it for your thirteenth birthday. But take it now. They allow you one thing from your district in the arena, don't they?"

I nod, although I have not thought about that rule at all. The star is light in my palm, its edges still a bit rough from the carving knife.

"I'll take it with me," I tell him, "Thanks, Raven."

Outside the door a chair scrapes back and the sound of the Peacekeeper asking for the next visitors to come up can be heard. My time with Raven is nearly over.

"You're smart and determined and wonderful, Rue," whispers Raven as he stands up slowly, "I know you'll be back."

"Take care, Raven," I tell him as the Peacekeeper opens the door, "I'll miss you."

He hugs me one last time before he is pulled out by the grim Peacekeeper. He's only my first visitor, and yet my eyes are about to drown in tears. Before the door closes, I whistle four little notes to him. He manages to return the tune, his whistle breaking at parts. _I already miss you, _each note seems to say.

The door closes momentarily as the Peacekeeper lines up my next visitors. I slip Raven's star into my skirt's pocket, glad to have that one piece of him with me when I'm alone in the Capitol. The wooden door swings open before I finish buttoning the pocket, and my large family streams into the room.

"Rue!" say my siblings simultaneously as they crash into me, all hugging and crying and clinging on.

"It's okay, love," I tell them as I try to memorise the feeling of their arms around me, "I'll be back soon."

Anise looks at me sceptically as I say those words, her huge brown eyes brimming with sadness. She knows what my chances are. I say nothing further about my survival, not trusting myself enough to keep those lies not transparent. The little ones will know soon enough.

When my brother and sisters finally let go of me, I am enveloped in my mother's arms. Which is where I want to be, except perhaps not under these circumstances. She says nothing, just stroking my back gently as she holds me. I feel like I'm six again, not having to think too much about tessera and chances and death. All the tears inside me overflows, and I cling on to my mother.

"You'll be okay, Rue," she tells me, "If anyone will survive, it will be you. They can underestimate your size and your age, but I know you can do it."

Wiping my nose, I nod and try to smile. The Peacekeeper is already opening the door to let my family out. Ma kisses my forehead and whispers to me that she loves me, before giving my father the last few seconds. He lifts me off the ground like I'm a willow wisp, his strong arms shaking as he hugs me for the first time in years. His beard scratches my skin as he too kisses my forehead. I hug him hard, my arms twining themselves around his neck. Finally he has to set me back on the ground. As the Peacekeeper shepherds my family away, Pa starts to sing the chorus of our favourite song. The rest of my family join in, and they sing until they are bundled into the elevator and I can no longer hear them. I hum the last few notes as the door close, clinging on to the music and the memories because I have nothing else.


	3. Chapter 3: A Whole New World

The train taking us to the Capitol is nothing like I've ever seen, so sleek and shiny. I've seen trains before, of course, but only the older styles with rusty carriages that carry our grains to the Capitol. And those are already high-class transportations compared to our mule-drawn carts. But this silver train, its tip pointed like a bullet, takes my breath away. From beside me, Thresh utters a tiny rumble of awe, his eyes widening. I bet anything that my face mirrors his perfectly.

"Come on, let's get moving," prompts Aqua, her cool fingers on our shoulders pulling us back to the horrifying fact that we're going as tributes, "The inside is even better, just you wait."

Obediently we step forward, Thresh giving way to me in that quiet-gentleman way of his. Although I have not talked to him much, I really do like his silent and gentle manner. I just hope he will be this kind inside the arena. At the very least, I hope he will be a friend to me until then.

"Let's get you both cleaned up," says Aqua as we enter the compartment, "No stylists here, but at the very least..."

She speaks on, but we are too busy gawping to listen. It is like entering one of those palaces Ma used to tell us about, the ones where handsome kings and beautiful princesses live a leisurely life. She used to say that the people in the Capitol lives just like that, and we used to shake our heads with disbelief. _If they really live like that, why are we so hungry every day? _asked my then-five-years-old sister Anise, _Shouldn't we share all that? _It was one of those rare questions that Ma couldn't answer, because to do so would be to drag up memories best left alone. With a jolt I realise that I've been thinking about my family in past tense. As though I've already accepted that I will never see them again, and that they are now a thing of the past.

"Rue?" Aqua's chirpy voice breaks me train of thoughts, one diamond-adorned finger pointing down the carriage, "I thought you'd like to know that your suites are that way."

Upon seeing my confused face, she adds kindly, "Suites are rooms, dear. Let's get you into a hot shower. Everything's better after a hot shower."

I've never had a hot shower before, but I really doubt that it will make the situation any better. Heated water's not going to take away the looming fact that I am a tribute and I will probably die in the next couple of weeks. But I smile a little smile at Aqua anyway, because it's not her fault that I won't see my thirteenth birthday, and plus she is only trying to be nice. Heading towards the carriage she pointed to, I try to think more positive thoughts. Maybe if I fool myself into thinking I can survive, then I will somehow survive.

If the first carriage looks amazing, then my rooms in the next compartment are out of this world. My whole family, all eight of us, could live here comfortably. It's that big and that nice. I shake off my boots and pull my socks off, leaving them in a neat pile by the door. Stepping tentatively onto the lush carpet, I sigh with delight. It's like walking barefoot on the grass in the Meadow, except I'm not trying to hide from anyone and there's no nasty surprises waiting to be stepped on. The bed in the middle of the room is gigantic, big enough to fit three adults. And it's all for me, tiny little Rue who can contentedly live in a corner of this room.

"The shower's at the far end, dear," says Aqua as she passes by my door and sees me treading lightly on the carpet, "Second door. Choose the automatic setting if you can't make up your mind on all the options."

I nod to her and flit away to the second door, clicking the lock shut behind me. My face is heating up slightly, because to tell the truth I am embarrassed to be caught in awe of something as common as carpet. Well, common in the eyes of the Capitol people anyway. The bathroom is deliciously warm; I swear even the tiles under my feet are heated. It's nothing like the cold shower at home, where there is only a water pump and a rusty hook to hang clothes on. I slowly take off my reaping clothes, hanging them carefully on the shiny hook behind the door. I hope someone will take them back to my parents; they can't possibly afford to buy a new outfit when Lilith's turn comes in two years. If only they can enjoy all this richness with me.

Aqua is right about the billions of options for the shower. I am blinded by the many buttons, and am so glad for the option of automatic setting. A spray of warm water gushes out from the silver showerhead above me. It's beautiful, and even more so when rose-smelling soap appears from nowhere. I step out from the shower smelling like those shops back in the centre of the District, the ones selling flowers and perfume. A navy blue tunic and cream pants hang on a hook next to my reaping clothes, waiting to be put on. With my hair clean and my skin rosy from the hot shower, I look a lot happier than I feel.

* * *

They use a bell to call us all to dinner. The ringing sound brings me running, because back at home bells are only used in cases of emergency. Aqua's eyes widen as I sprints in to the main carriage, and her eyebrows fairly fly off her face when Thresh's door crashes back. It looks like he has rushed here too, his hair still dripping with water from the shower.

"Lunch's served," says Aqua weakly after she finally recovers her voice.

I bite my lips as I walk over to the table in the centre of the carriage, deliberately slowing my steps so that I appear more civilised. Aqua must've thought that we came running for food like savages. Which is not true. Although I am feeling rather hungry.

I sit down next to Thresh, feeling rather small because my feet just touch the ground. Aqua's seated herself at the head of the table, and opposite from me and Thresh there are two more empty seats. Before I have to wonder too long about whose seats they are, a middle-aged man and an older lady walked through the doors.

"Thanks for waiting," says the woman, pulling back her chair gracefully.

Her golden eyes are very much like Thresh's as she looks at me. Smiling, she extends a hand over the table.

"I'm Seeder," she says as she shakes first Thresh's hand and then mine, "Lovely to meet you both, Rue and Thresh."

Of course she is Seeder! I forgot entirely about having mentors for the Games. So that man sitting next to her, leaning back leisurely on his chair, must be Chaff. He straightens up as Seeder nudges him subtly in the ribs.

"Yes, nice to meet you," he says to both of us, "Although I doubt you'd think the same of us. Since it is the Hunger Games and all. Oww, what was that for?"

It seems as though Seeder has kicked him hard under the table, and at the glare from her Chaff stops talking. _No need to remind them,_ her eyes says, _It's hard enough as it is._

"The name's Chaff," he tells us gruffly after a few moment's silence, offering us his hand to shake.

"Thresh," says Thresh as he takes up Chaff's hand and gives it a hearty shake.

"I'm Rue," I whisper as I try to circle my fingers around Chaff's much bigger hand to give it a decent shake.

It is not working, my fingers aren't long enough to do this. Seeing my struggle, Chaff sweeps up my hand, covering my palm with his. To my surprise he leans over the table and brushes his lips over my fingertips.

"Hello, little lady," he says, his eyes twinkling as he watches the heat rise up my face.

"Come on Chaff, cut out the act," Seeder chides him gently, "Let Rue eat first before you make her face burns into a crisp."

He lets go of my hand as Seeder requested. My fingers suspend in midair for a moment, my muscles too shocked and flattered to move. No one has ever called me a lady before. And I thought that kind of chivalrous acts like the hand-kissing only happen in ballads. Apparently not. At Aqua's polite cough, I pull my hand back onto my lap.

"Will you pass me the bread basket, Thresh?" she asks, "Bon appétit everyone."

I can't understand the second part of that sentence, but since everyone else dig in, so do I. Taking a warm roll of fine bread, made in the style of the Capitol, I slit it in half and spread a generous dollop of creamy cheese over it. The taste is amazing, warm and creamy and crunchy and salty all at once. I take another roll, this one sprinkled with poppy seed.

"Try the roast lamb slices," says Seeder as she passes me a platter with enough meat to feed three families.

I gingerly pick up a piece of lamb, and shoves it in between my roll quickly lest it disappear. Another three slices slide onto my plate as I am about to bite into my beautiful dinner, and I look up to see the warm eyes of Seeder.

"Have some more, otherwise Chaff here will finish everything," she tells me, earning herself an outraged 'hey!' from her fellow mentor.

"Yes, eat up Rue," Aqua chimes in, "But don't get too full because supper in the Capitol will be even better."

Spearing the three slices of lamb with my fork, I place the lot inside my roll and bite into it. The meat is juicy and sweet, with just a hint of rosemary. Every mouthful is like heaven. I really don't know how the Capitol's food is going to top this.

"Let's get dessert coming," says Aqua after we finished our meal, her ring-studded fingers clicking as if calling a pet dog.

Two girls appear just a second later, their faces impassive as they carry five servings of sweets between them. A bowl is placed before me, with two balls covered in brown sauce. I look over to the others, not entirely sure what this dish before me is. Seeder and Aqua are already eating, taking small spoonfuls of the balls and the sauce. Chaff has declined the dessert; instead he's taking long swigs out of a tumbler of wine. That leaves only Thresh.

"Suppose we both eat it at once?" he whispers to me before I could work up the courage to ask him.

I pick up my spoon and nod. We dig in to our strange dessert at the same time, taking a scoop of the soft ball and dark sauce. It tastes like cream and richness, like happiness and curling in bed on an icy winter's morning. We clean the dishes in no time; Thresh even broke off a roll to wipe all the sauce off.

"If you like chocolate that much, we can get you whole blocks of it," Aqua laughs as she watches us eating, "Wait til you see the things they do with chocolate in the Capitol. Speaking of the Capitol, we should probably wrap up now, they're about to screen the reapings. Don't want to miss that!"

And just like that, I am pulled back to the reality that I'm only here as a tribute. Pushing my chair backwards, I stand up and gather my cutleries onto my plate. The chocolate is churning dangerously in my stomach.

"Leave them, Rue," Aqua says as she sees me taking up my plate, "You don't have to worry about that."

In a way, she's right. I just have to worry about my life. Literally.


	4. Chapter 4: Competitors and Big Brother

The plush chair engulfs me; it feels like sinking slowly into a cloud. Back at home we only have wooden furniture, all angles and edges. I share my seat with Thresh; it seems like we share everything these days, from couches to food to fate. A screen looms before us, and it flickers to life when Aqua presses a button.

"Ah, just in time," she says happily, "Perfect timing everyone."

The program has just started, with Caesar Flickerman welcoming viewers to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Game reapings. Minutes later we cross over to District One, or rather watch a replay of their reaping because it all happened this afternoon. I watch a glamorous girl step up on stage to volunteer before any names are even called. I think I'll never understand their eagerness to put themselves forward to die.

"I'm Glimmer Ross, seventeen," she says in reply to her escort's question, flashing the crowd a winning smile, "I'm so glad to be going."

Not long after a boy joins her on stage, another volunteer. They shake hands and I could see an excited gleam in the male tribute, Marvel's, eyes as the camera zooms in. They are both bigger than me, age-wise and body-wise. I'm beginning to think that I'll have to rely solely on my wits if I want to survive.

District Two produces two more volunteers, a lean girl called Clove and a giant of a boy named Cato. District Three is much more normal, where the girl reaped looks terrified to be on stage. More volunteers are taken in District Four, one of the three districts that train a couple to enter in the Hunger Games each year. In Five, a redheaded girl is chosen. She is quite small, perhaps only a couple of years older than me, but the calculating looks in her eyes warn me that she will be a worthy opponent too. As the poorer districts are covered, the tributes look less and less intimidating. They will be the ones dead within the first few days, because that is the unavoidable fate of poorer tributes.

"You're up next," says Aqua excitedly as we watch the couple from District Ten walk off stage.

I don't share her excitement. And from the look on Thresh's face, he doesn't either. Neither of us wants to relive that awful moment. But before I know it my name is called out, and then I am on stage, and I can hear my mother's breaking sob all over again. I lower my head and sink further into the sofa, silently humming to try and block out the pain of my own reaping.

"Another twelve-year-old?" whispers Thresh incredulously, and his voice has me straightening up with interest.

Someone my own age. She's built lightly with a pale complexion and blonde hair, her small stature just like mine. As I watch her step out from the twelve-year-old area, it is like watching my own reaping. But the moment does not last long. Instead of suffering the silent walk up on stage, this girl, Primrose Everdeen, is saved.

"NO! PRIM!" screams another voice, and the crowd parts to reveal a girl with dark hair and anguished eyes, "I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute!"

The seventh volunteer for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, from none other than District Twelve. The parting of Prim and the girl who loves her more than life makes me want to cry. They must be sisters, soul sisters, for the dark-haired girl to give herself in. I wish I have someone like that in my life, someone who cares enough to take me from this hell.

"What's your name?" says District Twelve's escort, a woman who could be Aqua's twin for their love of wigs and bright colours.

"Katniss Everdeen," answers the girl, confirming my thoughts that they are sisters.

I miss the boy's reaping from District Twelve because of Katniss and Primrose. I can't help but be jealous of that blonde girl whose big sister who loves her more than life. Not for the first time, I wish that I wasn't born the eldest.

"Quite a few bulky tributes this year," comments Chaff after the whole thing is over, "None as big as you, Thresh, so you've got a good chance."

"And so do you, Rue," adds Seeder after a awkward silence from Chaff, "No one's as small and agile as you, and us District Eleven tributes are great at hiding and surviving."

I smile at her because I don't know what else to do; I am grateful of her kind words but at the same time I just cannot fully believe them. I am the youngest, but I'm not foolish and I do know my chances. Hiding will keep me in the Game for a while, but how long will that be? Chaff is right about Thresh. He could probably take down three of the other tributes at once and make it home alive as the longed-for Victor from District Eleven.

"None of them can climb like you do," Thresh tells me, his voice quiet, "And none of them knows how to forage for food like you do. If anyone will survive, it's you Rue."

The room goes silent after his remark. It's not usual for tributes to encourage on another, even ones from the same District. In past Games, the tributes try to get as detached from each other as they can. Especially the ones from the same District. It's much harder to kill someone you know, or to even be glad about their death.

"If I have it my way," I tell him softly, "We all will survive. Or at least both of us will."

"If only the Gamemakers think like you, Rue," Thresh says, standing up and, after some hesitation, ruffles my hair, "I think I'll go back to my room for the moment. We won't be at the Capitol for a while, yeah?"

"No, there's been some delays," says Aqua to Thresh's receding back, "I expect it will be a good two hours until we get there."

"Could I go to my compartment too, then?" I ask, feeling suddenly timid without Thresh's solid presence beside me.

"Sure, dear," says Seeder.

I take off after Thresh right after those words left Seeder's mouth. There's a strange urge in me to catch up to him. I need to say thank you.

"Thresh," I say, touching his arm lightly as I reach him.

"This light-footed sneaking here is exactly how you're going to win the Games," he tells me, grinning down, "You're going to give them all heart attacks if you keep doing that!"

"Thanks for everything," I stammer as he continue to smile at me.

"No need, little sister," he says, ruffling my hair again, "Well, I'm off. See you in a couple of hours?"

He's gone before I can reply, and I slip back into my compartment. The lights turn on by themselves as my door shuts. The glow of the electricity is much brighter than that at home. Not wanting to ruin the smooth cover of the bed, I sit cross-legged on the carpet in the middle of the room. Across from me is a huge mirror. I can see that my hair's still ruffled from Thresh's hand, with strands sticking out at random angles. He's the third person to take a liking to ruffling my hair. Father had been doing it since I was born, and ruffling hair was Raven's way of greeting me.

"The star!" I say out loud, suddenly reminded by the thought of Raven.

Scrambling up, I run into the bathroom, hoping fervently that they haven't taken my reaping clothes away. They were there, still neatly hanging from the shiny hook. Rummaging the pockets, I take out the wooden star that Raven gave me just a few short hours ago. Under the bright light of the bathroom, I finally see that the wooden thing is not a star after all. It's an unfinished flower, the petals half-carved and details partly etched in. But I can tell that it's a rue flower.


	5. Chapter 5: Savages

_**Author's Note:** _There is a little change to previous chapters. The names of some of Rue's siblings are changed due to me finding better names for them. So for those who have read this before I went back and changed the names, the changes are: Rose is now Willow, and Zac is Fern. So her siblings are (in order of age) Lilith, Anise, Willow, Fern and Violet.

Also, posting will be slowing to about 1-2 posts a week because school is starting. Sorry for that :)

* * *

I must've fallen asleep somewhere between thinking of my family and trying not to cry. Nestled in a warm corner with a thick throw taken from the sofa, I can't help but feel drowsy. It had taken me a good ten minutes to figure out how to dim the lights; I just can't stand the harsh bright glow of Capitol electricity. With the hazy light cocooning me and my eyes half-closed, I can almost see myself back at home again, sitting with my family around the blazing fire.

We had only a small cooking fire back in District Eleven, with the exception of the large campfires lit twice a year at the start and end of winter. Those campfires were community events, where the whole neighbourhood sat together, sharing stories and hopes for the harsh season to come. These fires were the things that made winter one of my favourite seasons. I remember one year where I even got a little present from the gathering, a woven charm in the shape of a bird. It was the year when I was eight, the year I broke my arm falling off a tree. In the weeks that followed I was miserable, feeling useless with my arm in a sling. The little charm cheered me up a lot; it's a shame I didn't think to bring it with me to my first, and probably last, reaping.

I don't think anyone remembers that charm like I do. I've bounced back from my broken arm barely a month after the accident, and after a couple of years watching me scale impossibly tall trees, people began to forget that my arm was once broken. I forget easily myself. There's this indescribable joy inside me whenever I'm off the ground, and I don't tend to dwell on bad things when I'm perching like a sparrow on a branch. It's only when the weather turns cold that my left arm aches slightly, reminding me of that accident four years ago.

Spears of coloured light break through my thoughts, filling the whole room with rainbows. I have to blink several times before my eyes focus. The light is coming from the window opposite the door. Jumping up, I drop the woollen throw onto the sofa and come to lean on the windowsill. There are no longer fields of wheat or factories passing by outside; there's not even the green wild meadows ringing each of the twelve Districts. We've entered the Capitol, where everything looks too bright and too fake to be real.

"We're here!" trills Aqua excitedly as she clatters down the narrow hallway in her heels, "Thresh, Rue, come out and see it from the main window! Have you seen such beauty in your lives?"

Smoothing out my crumpled tunic, I step out from my compartment. Even from down the hallway, I can see the glow of the Capitol's life coming through the main window. Thresh is already standing by the glass pane by the time I get there, his broad back the only thing that seems remotely real in this painfully bright world.

"They call this beauty?" he says softly as he watches the explosion of extravagance through the window, "I think it's more ridiculous."

"I think more like glowing aliens who just happened to walk by as a paint factory explodes," says Chaff in reply.

A little giggle bursts out from me at that. He's got their description down pat. Chaff winks at me, making me blush again.

"Hush, Chaff!" whispers Seeder not-so-quietly, "Watch your mouth! You're responsible for more than just yourself now, so shush it!"

She glances subtly around for Aqua, and I follow her gaze. Good thing our escort's too thrilled about the prospect of coming back to the Capitol again to resist having a drink. I doubt she heard a word Chaff said through all that clinking of her glass and champagne.

"What do you think of the Capitol, Miss Rue Thornton?" asks Chaff after some silence.

"I..." I stumble, "I don't know what to say. It's very bright. And it makes my head hurts."

It is bright. The whole city's a kaleidoscope of colours, not pale muted tones but bright neon bursts. It's like standing inside the sun and being blinded everywhere I look. The artificial electric light glares harshly out from every corner. And it's all the more head-spinning and dizzying because of the sheer speed of the train. It's true that the train has slowed upon entering the city, but the speed is still much faster than anything else I'm used to.

"Don't they ever sleep?" I ask, "I mean, doesn't the electricity ever goes out?"

"Not in the Capitol dear," answers Aqua from behind me, her reflection on the train window misty-eyed as she sips her champagne, "The sun never sets on the Capitol, or at least we make sure it doesn't! Don't you just love the colour and the light?"

I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything. Turning back to the window, I continue gazing out at the Capitol even though my head feels like it's going to explode. I haven't noticed before, but there are people by the track. They blend in so well with the city that I failed to see them, their clothes the same bold colours as the buildings. It seems like they are waiting to welcome us because they are all waving and smiling as we pass by. There are even small children by the tracks, wearing the same strange outfits as their parents and waving in the same way at us. Hesitantly, I raise my hand to wave back to them.

"Don't, Rue," says Chaff before Seeder manages to elbow him hard. The glare she gives him after he said that could've killed a whole district.

My hand freezes in the air mid-wave. I don't get it. Why not? They are only being nice and welcoming, and Ma had said that we should always be polite to those who are nice to us. I look to Thresh for pointers, but he is deliberately looking away. Fine. I keep on waving.

And then I see it. The flashing faces of those people, glowing aliens as Chaff calls them, all lit up with excitement and laughter. They are pointing at us as though we are caged animals and they are here for a visit, their eyes curious and their mouths laughing. Even the children are doing it, some even clapping and jumping from sheer enthusiasm. Most of those kids are my siblings' age, and a little girl with chocolate curls and huge brown eyes can even pass as Anise.

"They're for real," I whisper when I finally got my voice back, "They really are excited about the Games. Happy to see us even."

_Happy to see us go to our death._ My unspoken words hang in the air. The muted claps of the Capitol children ring in my ears. It's nothing like the forced clap back in District Eleven. Thresh puts a hand on my shoulder, stilling it. I am not even aware that I am shaking.

"Ignore them," he says quietly, his deep voice calming.

With his hand on my shoulder, I stand and endure the rest of the journey. I can't believe that it is all a joke to them, a game in the lightest sense of the word. Underneath my shock, I am terrified. Thresh senses this, somehow.

"We're better than that," he tells me, "So don't be scared, Rue. Good things come to good people, don't they?"

And he's right, of course. Although they all point like we're some kind of exotic birds on display, some wild savages caught in a cage for their amusement, they're the ones who are savages. Even the children, Anise's age or Fern's age. The Capitol's full of blood thirsty savages.


	6. Chapter 6: Tears Come Streaming

A/N: The lyrics to Rue's song is original, please tell me what you think :) Also, I'm not sure whether the amount of detail paid to each scene is too excessive, so it would be amazing if you all could drop me a few lines (or a review) telling me what works and what doesn't. I'm striving to improve as a writer, so no criticism is too harsh :)

* * *

Camera flashes blind us the moment we get off the train. A horde of crazily-geared photographers, looking like a swarm of strange insects with their thick camera lens, surrounds us. Aqua seems to stand straighter under all this attention, her head held high and her voice calm. Seeder looks as relaxed as she did on the train, although her clenched fists tell a different story. Chaff makes no attempt of putting on an appearance.

"Will you all get out of the way?" he says gruffly as he pushes through the crowd, clearing a path for us.

"We need their pictures!" insists one of the camera people, thrusting a microphone in my face, "Rue, Thresh, what do you say about being part of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games?"

"For God's sake, get out of the way!" Chaff's voice is louder now, "Did you care an ounce about them when they were just poor little District Eleven peasan..."

His comment stops abruptly as Seeder comes closer, her eyes glaring a burning hole right through his face. He clamps his mouth shut and walks onwards, a silent path-maker.

"Rue, how do you feel about being the youngest tribute?" asks a woman in a lilac wig, pushing a matching microphone at me.

"I... I can't tell you much..." I say as the crowd sweeps me away, "But it's definitely an advantage when everyone else underestimates me."

There, that should do it. Maybe they'll mull over that for a while and leave me enough time to get away. Thresh is being bombarded with questions beside me, and from his tense poise he feels just as uncomfortable as I am. We increase our pace, half-jogging after our escort and mentors. Still the media follows us.

"Thresh, how do you feel about going up against Rue in the arena? Will it be easy or hard?" asks a purple-tinted man, his mouth stretched into a grotesque smile.

I stop dead in my tracks at that question. It is not because I am angry at the inconsideration of his words; anger is for later. It's because deep down I've wanted to ask Thresh the same question ever since our handshake on the stage. The silence in between that question and Thresh's reply renders me breathless, and I stand beside this boy from home on my tiptoes, ready to fly or fall at his answer.

"Why do you even care how I feel?" he spits back bitterly after a long pause, "Do you even care how Ruee feels? She's twelve, but she's not deaf and she's beside you."

There is a split second of complete stillness after his words, before the camera people scramble to get down footage of Thresh's longest reply yet. He had answered all their previous questions in one or two words, but this one... We continue forward through the surging sea of photographers, Thresh's hand holding my arm and keeping my skinny frame up straight. Again I rely on his kindness, the kindness of an almost-stranger.

"Come one, we're behind schedule already!" says Aqua in a ringing tone, her manicured hands beckoning us inside a large car.

I tumble inside, my clothes askew. Thresh steps in after me, his huge frame blocking out half of the entrance. The car door slides shut automatically, and the tinted windows are rolled up. We pull away from the station's sidewalk effortlessly. Behind us I can see the vague shadows of the jostling horde of reporters, settling in to wait for the last train to arrive. With their pointing microphones and their words of daggers, those reporters remind me very much of predators circling around an innocent kill.

"I think we'll have to defer the meeting with your prep team until tomorrow," announces Aqua as the silence inside the car grows to be unbearable, "It's already eleven."

"Eleven?" my eyes widen with shock, "It's so light outside..."

"Welcome to the city that never sleeps," Aqua says with a smile.

"Great, I could do with some sleep right now," mutters Thresh under his breath, and his words set me on a bout of nervous giggling.

"What's that you said, Thresh?" asks Aqua, her eyes gazing out at the bright Capitol with something akin to love.

"Nothing," he replies curtly, and turned away to look out his own window.

The car trip is short, taking about as long as it takes me to walk to the Meadow. Our destination is underground, a car park located beneath the building where we'll be living. Once the car is parked perfectly, the automatic doors slide back to reveal spotless walls and an even more spotless girl. She holds her head down, her red hair a bright river against her immaculate white uniform. Thresh steps out hesitantly, eyeing the plastic-looking floor beneath his feet with a frown.

"Level 11," says Aqua to the waiting girl as she emerges from the car, the last of our District Eleven party.

With her head still down, the red-haired girl walks over to a set of glass doors on the far side of the car park. We all follow, Aqua rummaging her handbag noisily. The glass doors open as we approach, and the girl in the white shirt waits as we file inside. Stepping in last, she turns to the wall and punches a series of buttons, causing the glass panes to shut and the whole elevator to shoot up into the air. It makes me feel like my feet no longer touches the ground, and I am not a girl but a mockingjay ready to fly. Aqua clearly does not share my thrill, her face pale as she clutches onto a brass handrail beside her.

"Can we do that again?" I ask as the bell dings overhead, announcing the end of our ride.

"Not if you want a living escort," says Chaff, grinning widely much to Aqua's annoyance.

"I am perfectly fine with elevators, thank you very much," she says in an injured tone, sniffing as she turns to scan her security card.

A green light flashes as Aqua swipe her card on the slot beside the glass doors, and the panes slide back to allow us to pass through. We enter the largest room I've ever seen, with the grandest chairs and the richest furniture. Aqua sighs contently beside me. I just gawp. I didn't think her promises of a place richer than the train suites were true, but I am continually being proved wrong.

"Alright, you both should be in bed soon," Seeder says, "Explore the penthouse later; you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I'll show you to your rooms."

I follow her across the room and down a hallway, with Thresh right behind me. Seeder points Thresh to a wooden door on the right side of the corridor, and leads me a couple of rooms further down.

"Here," she says as she turns the gold handle of the last door on the left, "Your nightgown's already on the bed, and there's a toothbrush for you in your bathroom."

"Thanks, Seeder," I tell her as I slip into my enormous room, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

She nods, smiling sadly as she clicks the door shut behind her. I scan the entire room, taking in the soft bed and the many gadgets here. The sight of the warm blanket and plush pillows makes me realise how tired I am, and in a matter of seconds I am wearing my new gown, my clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair. After a quick brushing of my teeth, I scramble into the bed, feeling very small and lonely in a sea of blankets.

"Ma, Pa, shall we sing?" I whisper into the darkness.

In the silence I close my eyes and picture their faces, pretending that they are here with me. Holding their image in my heart, I begin to sing what I've sang every night.

"_Oh ye weary traveller_

_With your ancient eyes and your heart worn,_

_Fix your eyes upon the sky_

_Because the lights will guide you home_

_Without warmth and without love_

_Miserable child of misfortune born_

_Fix your eyes upon the sky_

_Because lights will guide you home_

_Cry a river, scream your hurt_

_But never leave your hope behind_

_For I will walk every step of the way_

_Hold your hand until the sun rises_

_Until the lights will guide you home_

_Never think you are alone_

_Because my lights will guide you home"_

A hand brushes away my tears as I finish the last line. Seeder offers me a handkerchief as I turn her way. I didn't realise that she had come in. Taking the handkerchief, I blot away my tears and mutter a 'thank you' to her. Hesitantly she leans down and smooth away my curls with her free hand.

"Good night, Rue," she says as she kisses my forehead, "Sleep tight."


	7. Chapter 7: Chaff's Words

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the kind reviews, you are all making my day that much brighter! Let me know if you like finding out more about character's past stories, or if you'd rather I cut the character development and goes straight to the action parts :)

* * *

I sleep fitfully, haunted by nightmares of the Games and the bloodiness of it all. It is especially horrible because the tributes are no longer faceless, and I am no longer on the sideline. I see my own death time and time again, first by a blade through my heart and then by an arrow in my back. By the time the clock struck five, my sheets are soaked in sweat and my eyes wide open. I can't go back in that horrific world one second longer. Sitting up, I slip out from the covers and walk barefoot to the bathroom.

The light turns on automatically as I open the door. The tiles are blissfully cool beneath my feet as I walk over to the sink. Dunking my flushed face under the cold water, I try my hardest to wash away the evidence of my nightmare. Hair dripping and skin feeling as cold as marble, I finally straighten to look at myself in the mirror. Miserable eyes stare back at me, puffy from crying and red from lack of sleep. My hair has frizzed up into painful tangles. I look like a downright mess.

Biting my lips, I take a brush out of the cabinet and drag it through my hair. The teeth get stuck halfway down, and I yank on it hard. The brush comes through, but so did a fistful of my hair. My eyes narrow with pain, but I don't make a sound. In a way, it is a kind of preliminary training to the pain of the Hunger Games. I only let my raw scalp rest when my hair stops resembling a wild bush, putting the hair-clogged brush back into the cabinet.

A fresh set of clothes lays waiting for me on my chair, and I shrug them on in record time. Slipping my feet into nice leather boots, I head out the door and down the hallway. The corridor is half-lit, draped in a soft golden glow rather than that harsh bright light. I don't seem to remember the hallway being this long, but I guess the last time I walked down here I had company. Finally I find myself back in the main room, the one full of grand furniture and richness. A silhouette sits hunched in an armchair, and I stop in my track

"Can't sleep either?" asks Chaff's familiar voice from the chair, his hand waving me over.

I shake my head as I walk towards him. He points me to another chair close by, and I perch tentatively on the edge of the velvet-covered seat. Even when I'm sitting like that, my toes just touch the ground.

"Let me guess," he says conversationally, "Nightmares about the Games?"

I nod, my eyes looking down.

"You can talk, you know. I don't bite," he tells me, then adds as an afterthought, "Not usually anyway."

"I..." I speak softly, "The Games. So many deaths. And God, the blood. Like a river almost."

"As I thought. It's like déjà vu, you know, you and me."

"You dreamed of that too?" I ask, "Is that why you're here?"

"No, not those dreams tonight. But thirty years ago, yes. In this very penthouse, shaking and screaming in that very room."

It takes me a while to understand what he meant.

"Chaff Balen, the boy tribute from District Eleven in the Forty-Fourth Games," he speaks on, his voice raw at the edges from a surge of memories, "What a lovely present for his twelfth birthday. An almost guaranteed one-way ticket to the Capitol."

So he was my age. I have always expected this hardened survivor to be a burly sixteen-year-old walking into the Hunger Games, not an innocent twelve-year-old. I have a gazillion questions burning on the tip of my tongue, but I bite my lips and keep quiet. Best to let him continue on.

"I was rather like you in those days, small and nimble," he tells me, "And with both arms intact. Terrified out of my wits about the Hunger Games, but trying my hardest to put on a brave face. I can still remember the weeks before the Games as though they were only yesterday. Did you know Seeder mentored me? Not officially, because that was the job of our District's first winner Thistle Folster. But Thistle was weak with age and deluded with alcohol, and he passed on the year after I came back home.

"Seeder was, and still is, such a mothering figure. We bicker constantly, as you can see, but underneath I am so grateful for her. She insisted on learning survival skills rather than combat, being the peace maker that she is. But I was a twelve years old boy, so of course I went against the grain and mastered knife wielding. She was right about learning survival skills though. The damn arena that year was covered in snow, just endless pine forests and frozen lakes. Those who didn't die in the bloodbath perished later with frostbite and illness, as well as hunger.

"One of the first things I said to Seeder when I came back was "I told you so!" because I was also right about the knife wielding. Who would've thought that the last two standing would've been the twelve-year-old from District Eleven and the thirteen-year-old from District Four. We met face-to-face for the first time that final night in the arena. She was vicious, I remembered that much. She was much taller than me, having had a growth spurt and also was a Career. My god, she was wicked with a sword. Hacked my arm right off, had me dizzy with blood lost and all. Good thing she died quickly when I threw my knife at her, or otherwise there would've been two dead finalists."

He shudders and falls silent at that, his face grim. I want badly to give him some condolences, but I just can't figure out how. Awkwardly I reach over the space between our chairs to pat his hand.

"I guess the moral of the story is that even the tiniest and youngest tributes can survive," he says, "And if I can survive, then nothing's stopping you or Thresh from doing the same."

"Apart from the fact that Thresh has the odds in his favours," I reply, "And I have about the worst chances ever, since most of this year's tributes are twice my size."

"Be positive for once, girl," he tells me sternly, "My principle is that the glass is always half full. So if it's not full, we fill it with positivity until it is full. You're a smart kid, and people underestimate smartness in these Games. A fatal mistake if you ask me."

"How did you do it?" that question bursts out of me, "How did you survive the odds?"

"By staying alive," he says simply, "And making sure I stay alive even in the most impossible of situations. Have you ever heard of hope? It's a life saver."

"Hope?"

"Yes, hope. Don't ever lose sight of it. And don't lose sight of food or water either, that would also help," he tells me, standing up and stretching, "Talking of food, I could do with an early breakfast."

He turns and walks off, and after some moments of hesitation I follow suit. He leads me into an adjacent room, where there is a large mahogany table with eight chairs surrounding it. Benches line the walls of the room, offering a wide selection of food. Chaff fills his plate with egg and sausages, and takes a steaming mug of coffee. Timidly I take a gleaming plate and spoon a serving of egg and bacon on, and pour myself a glass of milk. Seeder, Thresh and Aqua join us when we are nearly finished.

"Isn't six thirty a tad early for breakfast?" Aqua asks as she plonks herself down on an upholstered chair, her appearance immaculate.

"No time's too early for food," Chaff replies as he gulps down the rest of his coffee.

"Oh well, I guess we can have an early start with the prep team," she says as she butters a roll, "An extra hour will make up for the train delay yesterday."

"An extra hour? How long do we have to be there for?" Thresh asks.

"Until they finish," Aqua replies matter-of-factly, "You two aren't too shabby, so it shouldn't take the whole day. But after that we have an appointment with your stylists about the chariot ride, and then there are a couple of other things on the agenda before we call it a day."

It is going to be a long day. Too long.


	8. Chapter 8: The Prep Team

At precisely eight o'clock, our car pulls up to another enormous building, its dull silver exterior bright with reflected sunlight. Aqua leads Thresh and me down the right wing of the building, while Seeder and Chaff head down the left. Aqua is to meet up with them later, so that the trio can discuss our possible tactics for the Games. Meanwhile, she has to take me and Thresh to our stylists.

"Alright, so here's how it's going to work," she tells us as we stop in front of a pair of huge swinging doors, "Thresh, you're off to see Cardamon. Just turn left when you get through these doors, and there'll be a team waiting to get you ready for your stylist. Rue, you're going to turn right. You're getting Lavender DuBois as your personal stylist, you lucky thing! She's only the best up-and-coming designer around here!"

Aqua sighs and makes a show of being extremely jealous of me. Winking, she pushes me through the door after Thresh. The idea of fashionable Aqua Stynes being jealous of me makes me laugh. I have to admit, no matter how ridiculous I think Aqua is, I can't help but like her. She has that certain charm and friendliness about her, for all her Capitol fancies.

"Rue Thornton?" chimes three voices in greeting as I enter the room, "Welcome to the Capitol!"

"Hi," I reply, somewhat bashfully. I'm not used to this kind of bubbling enthusiasm.

"Aren't you so cute?" gushes a woman whose hair contains the whole rainbow, "Such a change from last year's moody tribute. I'm Marjorie, and these here are Saffron and Sage!"

A young man with bronze dragonfly tattoos covering his entire left cheekbone offers me his hand. I grasp it, only to be pulled into a bone crushing hug. He grins at me after he released me from the locking embrace.

"Excuse Saffron, he can be a little excitable," says a tiny young lady who must be Sage, "I'm Sage, the only one who's remotely sane here. Now, you must be dying to get that makeover! Well, we won't keep you waiting!"

She guides me over to a silk screen and tells me to undress. I pull the tunic over my head and leave it folded on the ground, then proceeded to take the rest of my clothes off. It's not until I'm standing naked behind the screen that I realise there's no clothes for me to change into.

"Umm... Sage?" I ask, suddenly aware that my whole prep team could see my undressed silhouette from the other side of the screen, "Where are the things that I'm supposed to put on?"

"Oh no, you're not meant to put on anything," says Marjorie in reply, "Come out here so we can start beautifying you, dearie."

"Come out there?" I say dumbly. My arms have come up without my notice to cover my body.

"Yes, dear," Marjorie says patiently, "It's okay, we're all friends here."

I can't possibly come out there to face three complete strangers, dressed in absolutely nothing! There's nothing to hide, and nothing to be shameful of, but Ma had taught me that a proper girl never meets anyone undressed. Saffron's face suddenly pops in from the other side of the screen, and I literally jump out of my skin.

"Come on, Rue," he tells me gently, "There's nothing to be ashamed of. And plus, you will love what we have in store for you out here!"

I feel like my whole face is burning, from my cheeks all the way to the tip of my ears. Saffron reaches out to take my hand, but my arms are locked like a barrier around my body. He steps in beside me and places a hand on my shoulder, guiding me out from behind the screen. Under the scrutiny of three complete strangers, with Saffron's hand resting lightly on my bare shoulder, I've never been more uncomfortable in my life.

"Relax a little, Rue," Sage tells me, her eyes kind, "How about we start with the facial and the waxing? The full-body scrub can wait til later."

I have no idea what she's talking about, but I let her steer me towards a padded bench. Marjorie places a towel over my torso, tucking it beneath my arms. I feel like an animal lying helplessly on a chopping board, but I don't tell them that. Saffron begins to apply some sort of paste over my arm, while Sage arranges a trolley of tubs and tubes near my bench. She massages her fingers to warm them, and then started to work on my face.

"Rue, Saffron and I are going to start the waxing now," says Marjorie's voice from somewhere above me, "It may hurt a little."

That is a massive understatement. It turns out that the gooey paste Saffron was putting on me is meant to yank out all of my body hair. And along with it half of my skin as well. The searing pain when Marjorie and Saffron pulls those waxing sheets off my limbs is horrific.

"All done," she announces an excruciating time later.

"I'm finished with the facial as well," Sage tells me. My face feels numb.

"You have to have the full-body scrub now," says Saffron, looking at his watch, "We have another forty five minutes before Lavender gets here."

I sit up on the bench, taking the towel with me. I don't like the sound of a full-body scrub, but then again I don't like the whole idea of the Hunger Games either. Marjorie helps me off the bench and towards a tiled cubicle in the corner of the room.

"Head right in and give me your towel," she says, while Sage and Saffron get ready for the scrub behind her.

I walk in hesitantly and lower myself into the huge steaming tub in the middle of the cubicle, leaving my towel on a nearby hook. My prep team enters after me, Marjorie pushing a trolley full of more tubes and equipment. I sink lower into the tub as Saffron comes in.

"I'll go get the nail station ready then," he says after receiving a pointed look from Marjorie, backing out of the cubicle. I am thankful, but I swear my still-flushed face is heating up the bath water even more.

The scrub is actually not as bad as I imagined it, although I feel as though I'm leaving with one less layer of skin. Swathed in a fluffy towel, I step out into the main prep room ready for the last part of my makeover.

"Nail time!" trills Saffron excitedly, pointing me towards a seat.

None of them are too happy with my nails. I have a bad habit of biting them, and working in the orchard where the sap from the trees blackens them didn't help either. Tutting slightly, Saffron gets to work trimming and reshaping them. He eventually gives up with my natural nails, gluing on perfect fake ones instead.

"You like lilac?" asks Saffron as he brushes paint onto my nails, "It's the new black this season!"

The purple paint looks lovely. "I love it," I answer him honestly.

Saffron laughs at that, and proceeds to paint my toenails the same colour. I don't think my hands and feet have ever been this pretty before. The door opens as I'm busy admiring the glossy shine of my new nails.

"Is she ready?" asks a strange new voice.

I turn my head towards the door, taking in the woman towering in purple heels staring straight at me. Her long black hair is streaked with violet, and they swing rhythmically as she totters towards me.

"Just done, Lavender," answers Saffron, screwing the lid back on the bottle of nail paint.

"Great, let's get down to business then," Lavender DuBois replies, her finger gesturing for me to stand up.


	9. Chapter 9: Lavender and Cardamon

I am on my feet at her command, the soft towel clutched tight around my shoulders. She tells me to step into the middle of the room, her voice sharp and clipped. It seems as though she's having the same effects on the prep team, for they all stand like statues at her bidding.

"Can you drop the towel?" she asks, in a voice that's more suitable for an order, "And stand straighter."

I obey the second part of Lavender's command, but my fingers refuse to release their hold on the towel. The soft folds of the fluffy fabric are pulled even more taunt around my body.

"She doesn't like it without the towel," says Marjorie.

"It doesn't matter if she likes it or not," replies Lavender, "If I'm to do anything to get her sponsors, she has to listen to me. Drop the towel, Rue."

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, then let go of the towel swathing my body. It falls to the ground like a heap of freshly fallen snow, the fluffy and white type that only comes on the coldest days of winter. Lavender nods in approval of my obedience, and proceeds to circle me.

"Hmm, not the type of girl I was expecting," she comments, "The chariot dress design will have to be drastically altered or remade altogether. You're not too shabby for a twelve-year-old, but the provocative dress just won't go... Raise your arms please."

I do as she says, turning and raising my arms and walking to and fro. My face is burning so badly, but Lavender is not done yet. She walks around me with a clipboard, taking down notes and drawing an occasional sketch. Under her scrutiny, I feel like a farm animal being assessed before it is bought. It's not a pleasant feeling at all.

"That will do," she announces finally, and I snatch the towel off the ground, "I have a couple of things for you to try on, but heaps of alteration will be made. I didn't expect a twelve-year-old to work on."

She leaves the room without further comments, signalling silently for Sage to follow her. Marjorie puts a bundle of undergarments in my arms and points me to the silk screen. I take them gratefully and slip on the meagre coverage, emerging from the screen feeling a little more Rue and a little less indecent. Lavender and Sage return less than a minute later with a rack full of clothes made from every type of fabric imaginable and in every shade of the rainbow.

"Let's try the green dress," Lavender says as she plucks out a grass-green gown with an extremely low cut, "Perhaps we could go for the 'meadow' look."

It looks horrid on me, the neckline too low and the tailoring too adult. It has been made with pinches in all the right places for a woman, and the curvy cut hangs loose on my frame. Lavender shakes her head and hands me another gown, this one yellow with bronze embroidery. It is marginally better, but still not good enough for the chariot ride. At least according to Lavender.

"This is useless," she exclaims after rejecting the thirteenth dress, "I better call a meeting with Cardamon and discuss this catastrophe. You can put on that blue dress over there, Rue, the one with the white edging."

I shrug on the dress as Lavender calls up Cardamon on her phone, talking at an insane speed with a clipped tone. By the time I managed to pull up the zipper at the back, Cardamon has arrived with Thresh in tow.

"Lavender, you can't call this slip of a thing here a catastrophe!" Cardamon exclaims as he takes in me and my blue dress, "Only because your designer wardrobe does not extend to anyone below the age of eighteen."

"Look, this is not time for you to criticise the appropriateness of my designs," she tells him, gesturing for me, him and Thresh to sit down at a corner couch, "We need to come up with a new design."

"Ever the efficient one, Miss DuBois," says Cardamon, smoothing out his flaming curls, "Alright, what do you propose?"

"I've tried meadow, I've tried wheat, and I've even tried apples," she tells him, her voice exasperated, "But nothing works! And what else is there that symbolises District Eleven?"

"I've had Thresh model a wonderful wheat outfit," Cardamon tells her, "And he said that he worked in the wheat fields too, so that's an extra stroke of genius right there."

"No need to brag, Cardamon," she says, annoyed.

"Have you considered asking Rue about it?" he suggests to her, his emerald eyes twinkling, "Like where she worked, what she'd like to wear and so on. It is her chariot ride after all."

He looks to me kindly, and his gaze is followed by Lavender's somewhat haughty one. I look down, not knowing what to do with all this sudden attention.

"She works in the orchards," says Thresh from my right, his deep voice reminding me of the said orchards, and of home, "She picks only the best fruits from the top of the trees, the juiciest apples and the sweetest pears. And the berries, the vines full of berries. They are what Rue is."

"See?" says Cardamon, "Inspiration right under your nose and you chose to ignore it. We can focus on the orchards for now and see where we go from there. Now Rue, would you mind answering a couple of questions about your orchards?"

I nod. He asks me the easy stuff, such as what the orchards are like, what is my favourite fruit and what do the trees look like in full bloom. I describe everything to him, and Thresh fills in the gaps where I falter. Talking of the orchards reminds me too much of home, and it makes me sad.

"I think I can get a design from that," says Lavender after taking down pages of notes of my answers, "I just need a couple of measurements, and the dress should be ready by tomorrow."

I am still lost in thoughts about District Eleven and my family, and do not rise until Thresh takes my arm and pulls me up. Copying him, I incline my head in thanks at the designers.

"We'll start again at eight in the morning," says Lavender in her crisp voice, then added hastily, "And thank you for your help Rue."

She seems much more human and much less intimidating when she says that. I part my lips in a small smile, and to my surprise the corners of Lavender's full lips pull up also. But the smile passes before I can even blink. And the Lavender showing me and Thresh out of the stylists' department looks as efficient and aloof as the Lavender who told me to drop my towel.


	10. Chapter 10: The Girl Blooming Flowers

The prep area is full of people, with the twenty four tributes crowded around by their respective stylists. Lavender is busy fixing my skirt, meticulously arranging each fold around my legs. My feet are killing me; the toll of standing on high heels for the first time in my life hits me hard. I don't dare to move though; Lavender would probably murder me for ruining her perfect arrangement of my chariot costume.

"Give the folds a rest, Lavender," Chaff tells her, "She's going to have to move, you know."

"It has to be perfect though," she mutters in reply, tweaking my hemline, "There, that should do it."

Due to Lavender's request for an early chariot, I am the only person from the pool of tributes to be standing on my chariot ready to go. Thresh is beside me, still half a head taller than me despite my heels and the fact that I'm standing on a platform. Evidently Cardamon had given some thoughts about his comfort, unlike Lavender. Dressed in a skin tight suit of a dark brown, he can still move about without tripping over and breaking his neck. The same cannot be said for me.

"Do you want to see yourself?" Lavender asks as she straightens up, her face wearing a satisfied smile.

I nod. The dress looked amazing when it came with its hook and cover, but I have yet to see it on me. Sage wheels over a huge mirror at Lavender's signal, pulling it up to my left side so I can see my full body.

"Wow," is all I can manage.

The dress feels tight on me, hugging my legs and my body uncomfortably. But I can see why Lavender designed it so. The soft skirt flares out halfway down my calf, the brown material flowing off the chariot platform. Rugged and dark, they look a lot like the roots that Lavender wanted them to be. The dark brown skirt changes into a deep orange hue as it reaches my waist, making the top half a mirror of the orchard dawn I told Lavender about. The neckline is tainted with soft pinks and yellows, the perfect edging for a sunrise. The most amazing thing is the vine though, a twisting thing that starts at the bottom of my dress and twines around my body. The shoot curls around my left hand, its many leaves tickling my arm as it sprouts miniature berries and fruits.

"You look beautiful, Rue," Seeder tells me, "Much better than how I looked on my chariot ride. Why, they made us wheat costumes that were ridiculous! We looked like walking cereal grains!"

"Better than dressing up as a platter of fruit salad, as we did," Chaff says, "I still have nightmares about that apple costume."

"Oh Rue," says Thresh, "How will my wheat ever outshine your orchard now?"

"Ah, just you wait until you see the headpieces!" interjects Cardamon, his voice bubbling with excitement, "Shall we arrange them now, Lavender?"

"Oh alright," she says in a mock-grudging manner, "Marjorie?"

Marjorie stumbles over with two huge boxes in her arms, dropping them heavily onto a nearby trolley. Cardamon rips the lid off the first box, taking out what looks like a bronze crown. Telling Thresh to bend down, he sets the headpiece upon Thresh's head. Upon closer inspection, I can see that the circlet of bronze is not really a crown at all. Rather, it is a wreath made of interwoven wheat stalks, all fashioned out of metal. It matches the sheaths of artificial wheat on Thresh's shoulder perfectly.

"Nice touch with the wheat theme there," says Lavender approvingly, "Even the bronze embroidery, you subtle thing!"

Thresh's suit is of the same colour scheme as mine, brown at the bottom and dawn at the top. But where my material is plain, his is lightly embroidered with wheat patterns in bronze thread. I don't think the male tribute from any districts have looked this good before. This must be a good omen.

"Alright Rue, keep your head still," Lavender commands, "This is a tad heavy."

It is more than a tad heavy. The headpiece that Lavender positioned on my head weighs a tonne, and for the first time I know how Aqua feels with that ridiculously big wig on her head. It is as if my neck is going to snap from the weight.

"Oh, that is perfect Miss DuBois!" says Cardamon excitedly, almost clapping at the sheer sight of the thing on my head.

Resting atop my dark curls is an elaborate wreath, glossy green and alive like the vine curling around my arm. In addition to the miniature berries, there are tiny apples and pears woven in between the leaves. Over my right ear is a tiny model of a bird, its beak open as though halfway through singing a song. The mini mockingjay is just like the real thing. Somewhere close by me, someone whistles four little notes that break my heart.

"Mockingjay for the mockingjay," Thresh says.

"How do you know that tune?" I ask him, "I thought it was just an orchard thing."

"Ah, you don't know how far and wide your mockingjays travelled then," he tells me, "Most of District Eleven knows that tune. Us workers in the wheat fields even dubbed it Rue's Whistle."

"Really?" I can't help but ask him.

"Really, Rue," he says, grinning at me, "You're pretty much a celebrity back at home and you don't even know it."

"Well, your chat's all nice and lovely, but I think we have to go now," interrupts Lavender, "District One is already pulling out. Thresh, get up on the right side of the chariot. Careful of Rue's train though!"

He gets up obediently. I can feel the standing platform shift slightly under his weight. I totter slightly, and he reaches out a hand to steady me. I don't get the point of these heels. Beside Thresh I am still as dwarfed as ever, and the extra four inches do not help whatsoever. But the reason for these painful shoes is not for me to level with Thresh, at least not according to Lavender. She said she was hoping they'd help me clear the hand rail on the chariot. It must've been a joke, because even though I am small, I am not **_that_** tiny.

"Remember, heads up, spine straight," reminds Aqua, "And don't forget those smiles!"

"No holding hands, don't try for any sign of comradeship at all," says Seeder, "Like we discussed last night, it will not go down well with the Gamemakers. So try not to do it, you two."

"And don't fall and break your neck on those sky-high heels of yours!" adds Chaff, managing a small smile out of me.

The horses have already started moving, their hooves beating a soothing rhythm on the stone ground. The District Eleven team calls out something to us as we reach the double doors, something that sounds an awful lot like "Good luck". Thresh squeezes my hand before the doors burst open for the eleventh time that night. Our chariot rolls onto the paved parade, the chestnut horses pulling it looking majestic and proud. Thresh lets go of my hand before anyone can see us, and with my empty right hand I clutch onto the chariot's hand rail. Plastering a smile upon my face, I reach out my left hand and wave. The small shoots on my vine bursts into full bloom as the crowd erupts in applause, the little white and yellow rue flowers brushing my bare arm like freshly fallen snow.


	11. Chapter 11: Parade

The sky is dark overhead, a dull charcoal without any stars seen. I guess the glaring electricity of the Capitol would've outshined anything, let alone a handful of stars floating a gazillion miles away. I keep my eyes on the sky, or else on the colourful banners above the stands lining the chariot drive. After that moment on the train, I can't look at these Capitol people in the same way again. I smile and I wave, like they expect me to, and I incline my head prettily when a group shout out my name. But deep inside me there is this indescribable shame because I am giving in to these people's cruel joys. I am playing the Hunger Games exactly as they want it. _Who cares, _I tell myself, _As long as it keeps me alive._

Thresh doesn't even need to lift a finger to have the crowd cheering for him. One look at his massive frame, a solid and calm force sailing through the chariot boulevard, and the spectators are on their feet. Unlike me, he keeps both arms on the handrail in front of him. I'm surprised that the flimsy decorative bar hasn't break already, his knuckles are pale from the sheer force he's applying to it.

"And last but not least," the overhead speakers announce, "District Twelve!"

The heavy doors burst open one last time, and the two tributes from District Twelve complete the official line-up for the Games. Suddenly all eyes are drawn away from me and Thresh, away from all the other tributes before us, to focus on the girl and boy from the mining district. I desperately want to look back, but the heavy garland on my head is threatening to fall. So I keep my eyes ahead, scanning the many screens lining the stands' canopies to see what's going on. Finally the camera sweeps to the last chariot in the tributes' parade. Thresh throws me a concerned look as I gasp, momentarily tottering on my heels.

They are on fire. Not just cheap flowing red fabric, but real scorching fire. It envelopes their shoulders and their capes, two sheaths of flame wavering behind them like some kind of flag. Flickers of fire appear and disappear on their skin-tight suits, like a magician's brightest jewels. The crowd hoots and hollers when the flames catch onto the dark band on the girl's head, giving her a halo as bright as the sun. Katniss, that's it, that's her name. The selfless girl, and now the girl on fire. As I watch, the boy beside her grasps her hand and lifts it up, a sign of friendship and comradeship. The flowering vine around my arm seems like nothing next to the glowing coals of District Twelve.

We pull up into the square in front of the President's stand amidst deafening applause, mainly for District Twelve. We are arranged in a semicircle, with District One starting from the left and District Twelve on the far right. In those moments before the President begins speaking, I get my first good look at my competitors. I recognise a few faces, the confident green eyes of the blonde girl from One, the guarded and intimidating look at the boy from Two, and the controlled features of the red-headed girl from Five. And of course the pair on fire from Twelve. They all have a certain shine, a certain looming presence that makes me feel like a toddler walking amidst adults. I stand straighter on my heels, stretching my spine as far as it will go.

"Welcome to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!" booms the president from the dais before us, "I trust that this year's Games will be the biggest and best one yet, and I'm sure such a selection of talented young people will not let us down."

He speaks on, repeating the same thing as last year. His hawk-like eyes sweep across each of our faces as he talks, looking right through us as though we're transparent. It brings a shudder down my back.

"Now let's give it up for the twenty four tributes of this year's Games!" he finishes with a flourish, "And may the odds be ever in their favour!"

Every single person in the stands is on their feet at his words, cheering for us as they would cheer at a coming-of-age party. Except this is not a celebration of life, rather it is one glamorising cruelty. Our horses wheel around, and I clutch on to the rail to stop from tumbling out head-first. District One gallops slowly towards the laneway that leads to the Training Centre, the official name of the building that we're staying in. Their exit is as much of a show as it can be, the girl blowing kisses to the crowd and the boy grinning while flexing his muscles. The pair from Two shows off their power in a darker way, the girl with her chin high and the boy with his arms crossed over his chest, his arm rippling with strength. No one else are anywhere near as impressive, all shivering in their flimsy gowns or shaking from anticipated fright to bother making a grand exit. The crowd has lost interest by the time it is our turn.

"What do we do, Thresh?" I mouth to him, panicking as the horses canter forward.

"Nothing," he whispers back, "We'll just be us."

He resumes his silent pose as our chariot turns at the bend, the very image of the quiet boy staring into the distance from his wheat field. I grip the rail and close my eyes, imagining I am home. Imagining that the buzzing noise is not the chatter of heartless Capitolists, but the humming chatter of my friends from beneath the branches, and that the bright light is the warm golden sun of a District Eleven summer. I part my lips and do what I always do on a lovely summer morning in the orchard. Four little notes float into the air, like delicate bubbles. But no one notices our exit, of course. The mockingjay tune evaporates, forgotten. And the door closes behind us, locking us into the Training Building.


	12. Chapter 12: Tactic Talks

No one is particularly thrilled with the chariot ride, although we did look brilliant in our agriculture costumes. It's the fact that District Twelve had stolen the show that makes everyone's mood sour. We've lost the first battle towards getting sponsors.

"I never knew they had it in them," mutters Lavender like a mad woman, scrutinising her own designs and crossing them all out, "Cinna and Portia to play with fire? Why, I never..."

She had taken my orchard dress off me as soon as I came in the District Eleven suites, and now the vine lies crumpled in the far corner, its leaves twitching pathetically. I saved the mockingjay before she could throw that out too. I never imagine a composed and intimidating woman like Lavender could get so worked up.

"I don't understand the whole handholding thing," Seeder says, voicing what's going through everybody's minds, "How did they get the nerves? And the Capitol likes it too!"

"I guess seeing friends ripping each other's throats out are much more fun than seeing enemies killing each other," growls Chaff sarcastically, "It's an extra sadistic bonus to an already bloody Game. Will surely gain them some heartless sponsors at the very least."

"Chaff! This is not the time or place!" Seeder says sharply.

"Anyone wants to watch the rides again, in technicolour this time?" interjects Aqua feebly, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

I don't dare to say a thing. Firstly because the tension in the air is choking me, and secondly because I do like how District Twelve presented themselves, contrary to how the rest of the people in the room feel. Admittedly it would've been better if Thresh and I were the ones holding hands and stealing attention, but they outshined everyone fair and square in their amazing costumes and gestures.

"I'll take that as a yes then," says Aqua after a long moment of complete silence, and flicks on the TV.

We are bombarded with countless footage of District Twelve. The camera zooms in on the blond boy and his partner, their faces filling the frame as President Snow says his speech. Us other tributes are shown in passing only as the camera rushes back to the pair on fire. They are the main focus even when the other districts are leaving the Square. The hour-long program has District Twelve plastered all over it for at least half an hour, leaving other districts with about three minutes each.

"You both looked lovely," says Aqua to me and Thresh after the screen turns black, her voice kind. I think she knows that our self-confidence isn't exactly high right now.

"Not that it had any use," says Thresh matter-of-factly, "I guess we'll have to take out the training then. Tomorrow it's game on."

"Can we be friends in the Training Centre?" I ask Seeder, "Me and Thresh. Like District Twelve."

"I don't know whether we should add that into our tactics," she says slowly.

"It got them support and possible sponsors," I point out.

"Ah, but the Capitol doesn't get to watch the training," says Chaff, "I think we have what we need to get you two sponsors though, without going down that comrade path. Rue, you're the youngest and supposedly the most vulnerable, so looking innocent and unprotected will gain you gifts from soft-hearted women. Thresh needs to keep up his 'silent and powerful' look to get sponsors, and having him getting all nice and tender with you will just ruin that image."

"So in short, we're treating each other like strangers tomorrow?" I ask, "But I don't want to! I want him to..."

"Your wants don't get a say here," says Chaff brusquely, suddenly impatient with me, "I've been doing this for years. I say what you'll do, and your job is to do it without question. That way one of you might get out alive."

He stands up from his sofa and walks away, slamming the door behind him. I want to point out that there hasn't been a victor for years, not since Chaff came back and started mentoring. But there's no point getting mad at him and making him madder. Judging from his lopsided gait, he's been drinking ever since he saw the District Twelve's costumes. I bite my lips and count to ten, trying to get my breathing pattern back.

"I won't totally abandon you," Thresh tells me, "We'll try what he says, but if anyone hints at giving you hell, you just look for me, alright?"

"Alright," I say to him, and then add sarcastically, "But won't it ruin your tough-boy image to save a poor little girl from your district? And you might not get out alive then."

"Oh stop it Rue," he tells me, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Chaff didn't mean it; he was just drunk out of his head."

"And I thought I poured all his liquor down the sink," says Seeder angrily.

"Oh, he asked for some of mine and I..." admits Aqua, faltering under Seeder's glare.

"No more fighting," says Cardamon from his quiet corner of the room, speaking for the first time since we got back, "Let's just head off to bed. Sleep it off, as they say."

We all get up and part with minimal words. Goodbyes are said to Lavender and Cardamon as they leave the Training Building. Seeder pats Thresh's shoulder and hugs me, while Aqua follows suit with an awkward half-hug. We walk down the corridor leading to our rooms, just Thresh and me side-by-side in silence. He doesn't stop at his door, instead continue down with me to mine.

"I guess it's good night then, little sister," he says to me as I turn the doorknob, offering me a small smile.

"Good night, Thresh," I say, and then reach out my arms to hug him on an impulse. Even on tiptoes my head is still a good five inches below his chin. After a second of hesitation, he rests his arms around me too.

"And may the training tomorrow be _ever _in our favour," he tells me, his voice the funniest imitation of Aqua's annual line that I've ever heard.

I am still laughing as he pushes me through the door and closes it behind me. Pretending not to know him will prove to be more of a challenge than I thought. Now that I am unofficially his 'little sister'.


	13. Chapter 13: The Training Centre

The breakfast table is the largest I've ever seen, filled to the brim with all kinds of food. I guess it's their way of saying 'good luck for the training', but I can hardly keep a mouthful down. My stomach is churning at the thought of actual training. Somehow the idea of being taught to wield weapons and to kill makes the Hunger Games that much closer. Closer and more terrifying in its realness.

I pick at the mound of eggs on my plate. Thresh is not eating much either, although he doesn't look anywhere near terrified. Rationing his sausage and taking only measured mouthfuls, he chews slowly between each bite.

"We're famous for being able to endure hunger," he says as he catches me staring, "I'm not about to splurge myself and take away that advantage."

So he's already thinking about the Games, keeping himself in a regime that will keep him alive for as long as possible. Admittedly that is the smartest thing to do if I want to come home alive, but I just can't bring myself to think about the Games with such acceptance. Maybe if I deny the brutal hard fact of the Hunger Games enough, then it will just disappear like a wisp of smoke.

"Better get going then," says Chaff, his voice hoarse from excess alcohol and haunting nightmares. He still haven't apologised for his harsh words yesterday. Granted, I haven't said sorry for getting fired up either, but still!

"I'll take you there," offers Aqua, wiping her mouth delicately on a serviette and standing up.

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," Seeder tells her gently, "You see, we decided that it will be best for Rue and Thresh to present themselves as independent and strong people. They need to appear like that in front of the other tributes too. Having an escort to the training will scream out childishness and incapability to the others. It's not going to be a good image."

"Since when did you decide all this?" asks Aqua, indignant that she has been left out, "I thought we were... Oh, never mind silly old Aqua Stynes. Just go ahead with your plans and ignore me."

"How about you walk us to the elevator?" I ask her, feeling rather sorry for this woman in her droopy blue wig.

"Oh, alright Rue," she tells he, smiling a little through her annoyance at Seeder and Chaff, "Anything for you."

I push back my chair to stand up, my hands automatically wrapping themselves around the crockery to take to the sink. Only at the last moment do I remember that I'm not supposed to do this. Letting my hands fall back to my sides, I stand awkwardly as a dark-haired boy sweeps my dishes away to the kitchen.

"You just be strong, okay?" Seeder tells me, "Don't go for the stations where you will reveal your weakness, so stay away from the more physical combat styles. The survival stations are the best; knowing how to make a fire and tie snares may be you lifesavers. Same for you Thresh; learn how to survive and you both will survive."

"Stay away from your strengths as well," Chaff adds, "Surprise them later in the arena, that's always fun. And learn how to fight too, because you will have to fight. Go for the long-distant weapons. Now scat! You're already two milliseconds behind schedule, and we sure don't want a mad Aqua Stynes around us all day."

Aqua leads us away from them with a huff, punching the elevator button with more force than necessary. She sends us off with a little wave and a smile, and then it's just me and Thresh shooting downwards to the underground training area. The ride down the elevator is nowhere near as exhilarating as the one taking us up. Instead of feeling like a soaring mockingjay, I feel like I am sinking into a bottomless depth. Which is, ironically, kind of true.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal a large space, with neat stations scattered at even intervals. There are already a few people here, the beautiful couple from District One and the intimidating pair from District Two. In the far corner is the red-headed girl from District Five, and not far from her sits a smaller boy from either Four or Eight. They all look up as we enter. The Careers' eyes slide past me as though I am no bigger than a fly, but they rest for a long time on Thresh.

"I'm Clove, District Two," says the small dark-haired girl who carries herself with such pride, "This here's Cato, and Marvel and Glimmer from One."

"Thresh," Thresh says gruffly in reply, his eyes glinting with distrust, "And Rue."

"Well, why don't you come join us here?" she asks, her voice inviting and menacing at the same time, "There's plenty of room."

Somehow I don't think her invitation extends to me. Although I wouldn't have wanted to hang around with the Careers anyway. They are not the type to keep up alliances. More often than not their sidekicks die as the Careers' victims, murdered in one gruesome way or another.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Thresh says as he breaks eye contact with her, walking away into the other empty corner.

I stand rooted, not knowing where to go. Clearly I can't stay here next to the Careers, nor can I follow Thresh over to his corner. We both said earlier that we would try to act like strangers, just like how Chaff instructed us, and me following Thresh around like a puppy is not going to help. I take a few steps hesitantly towards the other corner with the red-head and the boy, sitting down not far from either of them.

"So you're Rue," says an unfamiliar voice from beside me, "The girl blooming flowers."

I turn my head to find myself face-to-face with that boy from Four or Eight. He has scooted up to me, now sitting cross-legged just a few inches away from where I am. Up close, he looks even smaller and younger. And that's something coming from me, the youngest tribute in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"Yes, I'm Rue," I say in confirmation, "You really remembered the vines? District Twelve completely burnt it up in their fire capes."

"Nah, I liked the vines better," he says conversationally, "Much better than the carpet drapes we were wearing. So much for textiles and fashion. Oh, the name's Felix by the way. District 8, as you can probably tell."

"Hi," I say, a little shyly, "Nice to meet you."

"Would've been nicer if we don't have to be pitted against each other," he says somewhat ruefully, "But not yet, so that's okay. I've heard you're twelve. Bad luck first time round eh? Me, I survived my first year only to find myself here. I never thought I'd be superstitious, but thirteen's really unlucky."

I am somewhat disarmed by his chatter. Usually I am drawn to this kind of conversations, but considering we are soon to be trained in the art of killing each other, his niceness seems out of place. But like he said, the Games haven't started yet. So maybe I can afford to enjoy a little friendship beforehand. Plus, something about him reminds me of Raven. Maybe it's the dark hair, maybe it's the small stature.

"... And I said 'I'll be back before you can say _May the odds be ever in your favour_', but I didn't count on her actually saying it," he tells me, "Of course I wasn't back by the time she finished, but... Oh my, the pair from Twelve impressing again. At this rate there won't be a soul left to sponsor the rest of us poor tributes."

It takes me a few seconds to register what he said. By the time I turn my head around, the couple from Twelve are already halfway across the floor. They are the last to arrive, although I was so caught up with my thoughts and Felix's talking that I haven't realised the others' arrivals. Amongst the tributes, District Twelve stands out like a sore thumb. We all are making a huge effort to be as distant from our partner as possible, and here they are, holding hands and wearing matching clothes.

"Well, now that we're all here, let's get a few things straight," says a young woman from the front of the room, "I am Atala, your Head Trainer. Now, there are many stations here, each with a different skill on offer. They range from survival skills to combat techniques, and you are free to wander around. Two small advices though. Don't underestimate the knowledge of survival skills. And don't even try starting a fight with another tribute. Now off you go!"

The Careers are already assembled around the knife-wielding station by the time I am on my feet. Thresh is walking over to the spear-throwing station, joining another girl and two boys there. Everyone seems to have made up their mind.

"You going to archery?" Felix asks, his eyes looking at the gleaming bows with longing, "I've always wanted to touch a real bow and shoot an arrow fletched to perfection."

"No, you go," I say, giving him a tentative smile, "I think I'll head over to camouflage. I'm not much of a shooter."

"Oh, alright," he says, his eager feet already taking him towards those bows and arrows, "I guess I'll catch you later then?"

"Yes," I reply quietly, "Later."

A whole quarter of an hour later, with my arms slathered in mud and my hair full of leaves, I am still puzzling over that boy from District Eight. My logic tells me that he wants something from me, that he will hurt me once I let him get closer, but the voice of my logic is pretty weak compared to that of my heart. I think I already like him too much to think objectively. Maybe I am flying straight into a trap, but Felix's open friendship makes it very hard for me to doubt his motives. Chaff and Seeder aren't going to be too happy about how this training session turned out...


	14. Chapter 14: Learning Survival

After an hour spent dabbling with camouflage materials, I shake the twigs outs from my hair and move onto the next station. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, I head over to the emptiest station and pick up some flints to start making a fire. The woman in charge of fire-making offers me some matches, but I politely turn them down. From past Hunger Games I know that matches are hard to come by, and so I may as well learn how to set fire without them. She seems to approve of my determination as she tucks the matchbox back into a box, then squats down beside me.

"You'd want to select the wood carefully," she says, straight to the point, "I don't recommend anything that gives off a lot of smoke, so steer clear of pine and similar trees. The point is to keep you as warm as possible without revealing your location to everyone else in the arena. And chose small dry twigs; they are very easy to construct and light up. I know it's obvious, but many tributes forget this."

She reaches over to take the flints out of my hands, setting them down by the pathetic bundle of twigs that I was going to set alight.

"First thing first," she tells me, "You need a good strong base to set on fire. Now, there's a certain way to arrange the branches that will give you maximal heat for longer..."

With deft fingers, she deconstructs my branches and fixes them up the correct way. After she is finished, she takes down the whole lot again and makes me set it up. After two attempts, I manage to build it the way she wants. I pluck my flints off the ground to start the fire, but again my technique is wrong. She leans over to fix up the flints in my hands, straightening them so that they would strike each other in a particular way. Picking up her own set of flints, she commences to show me how to best start a fire. The stones are a little large for my hands, and I struggle a little to copy her striking motion. That's why the first spark that catches onto the branches makes my chest want to burst with pride. I have successfully set alight a fire all by myself, and with only flints at that.

I do it again and again, using flints and other types of materials to start fires. Eventually the thirty minutes it takes to assemble and light a fire is reduced to twenty, then ten minutes. As I leave the station, the woman in charge shoots me a proud smile, one that says _'You did a fantastic job, dear'_. I grin back as I wipe my sooty hands on my pants, getting ready to learn about foraging skills at the next station.

"Hi there," says a young man with a silver hoop in one ear, his pose relaxed against a synthetic tree trunk, "Welcome to Foraging 101. There are a couple of others heading this way, so I think we'll wait for them and start all together."

I turn my head to follow his gaze, curious about the identity of those joining us. Felix grins at me when he sees me looking, and bounds over to us. The red-head from District Five walks behind him, her face an impassive mask.

"Hey, Rue!" he says as he reaches me. I smile back at him, still so overwhelmed by his strange enthusiasm and friendliness towards me. He settles into place beside me, his shoulder millimetres from mine.

"You two from the same district?" asks the trainer, smiling slightly at Felix's bubbling presence.

"I wish!" Felix replies.

"No we're not," I say at the same time, "I'm from District Eleven. He's from District Eight. We met this morning."

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone so friendly to a district rival before," the trainer says, "But then again, you are what? Twelve?"

"She is," says Felix, "I'm thirteen."

"Well, the young ones should stick together then," the trainer replies, then added as the red-headed girl join our ranks, "And welcome to Foraging Class. I'm Leonardo Quintera, but call me Leo."

"Felix," says Felix, "And this here's Rue."

"Gwendolyn Hart," says the girl from District Five, her voice measured.

"Well, Felix, Rue, Gwen," Leo says, "Let's start with common berries and fruits. Then we'll move onto nuts and edible leaves. And if there's time, I can also do a quick class on using plants as medicine."

"Let's get started with that," says Gwendolyn, "And please don't call me Gwen. I prefer Gwendolyn."

We head over to a booth filled with baskets of all types of plants, from colourful fruits to strangely-shaped nuts. Felix positions himself next to me, while Gwendolyn stands a few feet apart from us, listening intently to Leo and taking down pages of notes. I sketch down a few plants myself, mainly pictures of the types that are poisonous. I am already familiar with many of the edible plants, and I've seen most of the dangerous ones, but I am not about to take my chances. Leo hands around the fruits and leaves as he explains, giving us different tips on how to find them, and how to identify edible plants from their poisonous counterparts.

"Let's see how much you all remembered," he says at the conclusion of the session, "I have an assortment of plants here. You will each take a basket, and sort them into edible and poisonous categories. Don't be fooled by their appearances; perform all the classification tests before you sort them."

I take my basket to a flat area not far from the booth, and begin to separate the tumbling heap of plants into groups. The easiest are the nuts and larger fruits, and within five minutes I am down to half a dozen leaves and three types of berries. A quick glance upwards tells me that Felix is struggling majorly. His basket is still full to the brim, with only five plants separated into groups before him. Gwendolyn, on the other hand, is flying through her sorting. She only has a small pile of berries left to identify, and as I watch she squeezes a berry open to scrutinise the juice. The blood-red liquid oozes out over her fingers, staining them a brilliant red. She deftly places the berry onto her 'poisonous' pile. I would've done the same. Nothing but nightlock stains such a brilliant red.

I turn back to my basket, and pick up the first leaf. Breaking it along the spine, I carefully sniff the faint aroma. It smells like eucalyptus, and coupled with the light purple veins running along its surface, I recognise it as shadowtorn, a dangerous drug if eaten. The rest of the leaves are safe, and apart from the nightlock, all the berries are edible. Leo comes over as I place my last plant onto the 'safe' pile. Running his fingers through the plants in each group, he checks twice to see if I've sorted them correctly. Finally he straightens, and grins at me.

"All right, Rue," he says, "You've got a knack for this kind of thing. You and Gwendolyn. I've never seen anyone sorting plants as quickly and accurately as you two did. You better stick by Felix though. From the look of his 'safe' pile, he's going to poison himself the minute he eats anything from the arena."

Leo is right, of course. Felix has somehow managed to classify nightlock, shadowtorn and a handful of other lethal poisons as edible plants, and still he is not finished sorting his basket. Hearing his name, he looks up at us and smiles somewhat ruefully.

"Looks like I better train myself not to eat a thing," he says, "All the damn plants look the same! How am I supposed to tell nightlock apart from blackberry?"

"I better teach you about medicine then," says Leo, sighing, "If you must poison yourself, I'd rather you be able to fix it with some other plants. Now, there's two types of main medicinal plants. One that treats a wound and heals it, and one that temporarily releases the pain. Ideally you want the first type, but the second is good for treating minor wounds..."

Gwendolyn is already busy scribbling away, her hand fairly flying across the page. She stops here and there to tuck a wayward curl of hair behind her ear, only to resume writing with an insane speed. She's holding onto every word Leo speaks, just as I am. I know that this knowledge of food and medicine is the most likely skill that will keep me alive, and I think Gwendolyn knows that it's her best chance too. But these plants will probably be the death of Felix, unless he is able to survive on stolen food and sponsor parachutes. The thought of this smiling boy beside me, dead by nightlock poison, is one that upsets me a lot. I guess I'm supposed to be glad that one of my opponents has such a major flaw, but I just can't think of him as an opponent. If he's been trying to get under my skin with his carefree chatter and smiling face, he has succeeded.


	15. Chapter 15: Unexpected Friend

The minute Leo packs up his baskets of medicinal herbs, Felix takes me by the hand and pulls me to the other side of the training area. His touch shocks me at first, the way a stranger's touch frightens a mockingjay. His palm is soft, but the tips of his fingers are roughened by textile work. Those small fingers close tightly around my tiny wrist, pulling me forwards as though we are about to face a brand new adventure.

"I really wanted to show you this before," he says by way of explanation as we approach the archery station, "But you looked so busy with your camouflage and fire-making that I didn't dare ask. Now that you're free though, care to do some shooting?"

"I thought you came here already," I reply, my mind so confused about this seemingly charming character. _Is my friendship the only thing you want from me?_

"I did," he nods, smiling at me again. That smile's disarming.

"So why are we here again then?"

"Just wanted to show you some of the bows and arrows," he says nonchalantly, "And perhaps you'd like to watch me take out all those dolls through the heart?"

"Oh, if you'd wanted to show off, you only need to say so," I say, laughing freely for the first time, "Alright, you do your thing. I'll watch. Mind if I do some shooting of my own though?"

"I thought you weren't into archery," he says.

"Not archery as such," I tell him, then lean in to whisper conspiratorially, "I've got some mean aim with a slingshot, but you didn't hear that from me. The mentors said to keep my strengths a secret. So hush."

"Lips are sealed," he says, his eyes glinting playfully, "Care to shoot a few badly-aimed shots though? Just for me?"

"If only you go first," I tell him, my fingers already running over the array of slingshots available. They are of much better quality than the ones at home. Of course, everything is apparently better in the Capitol.

"Alright," he says, picking up a bow and a quiver of arrows. Running his fingers over the string, he fiddles with the ties at the ends, adjusting the tension of it. Finally he picks up an arrow and slides it into the bow.

The sharpened end hits the first doll with a small tearing sound. It's buried to the shaft, having ripped a sizable hole in the target's fabric. Felix has missed the heart by about three inches. He turns around to face me, and I give him and encouraging smile. He grins back, and turns towards his next target. With his bow empty, he walks over to a small box and presses the button there. The once-stationary dolls start to bob up and down, all the while moving side to side. Felix has a smug grin on his face as he loads his next arrow. The easy confidence that he has reminds me very much of my little sister Willow. The little sister who is convinced that she can do anything if she sets her mind to it. The little sister who is so sure of life and of her abilities. Not for the first time, I wish I have some of her assurance in me.

"Did you see that?" Felix says excitedly, "I would've paralysed his leg if he was a real person!"

He is right, of course. His arrows are lodged in all those dolls that he had set in motion, one in the thigh, another in the stomach and yet another in the eye. I give him a wide grin and a tiny clapping gesture. To my surprise, he takes a small bow, his head bent and his arms sweeping.

"Your turn, Miss Rue," he says as he straightens himself, "I bet you can't do as well as me."

I say nothing and reach for my chosen slingshot. _Ah, just you wait and see, Felix. I'm not one to turn down challenges. _Smiling to myself, I pick up a small rock and tuck in neatly into the elastic band of the slingshot. Raising my weapon, I close one eye and take aim. Only at the very last minute do I remember Chaff's words. _Don't show them your strength, _he had told me. Sighing inwardly, I shift my aim a little to the left and let the missile hit the doll's shoulder.

"I think I won that round," says Felix gleefully, "Told you no one has aim like me."

"Don't brag too much, Felix," I warn him gently, "You don't know for sure what other people can really do."

He just smiles and shakes his head like I am insane, and walks back to his bow and arrows. I watch as he loads his bow again and again. His shots are good, but to be brutally honest they are not excellent. But he carries himself with such pride when he holds the bow and arrows in his hands, and I don't have the heart to burst his bubble. And it seems as though his confidence has got him a little audience as well, for not only am I watching but the girl from Twelve is also assessing him from her spear-throwing station.

She shakes her head quietly as Felix's face bursts into a self-satisfied smile after he manages to skewer the doll's throat. Her eyes slide over to me as he pauses to reload his weapon, and I lower my gaze back to my slingshot. I slide my finger along the elastic part, testing for the spring of the sling, all the while willing for her to look away. When I can no longer feel the heat of her stare, I cautiously raise my eyes. She has gone back to her own weapon, weighing a spear on her palms before gripping it and taking aim. She pulls her arm back behind her head and flings the spear forward, burying its shaft in the heart of the doll before her.

Unlike Felix, who has left all his arrows in the target dolls, the girl from Twelve crosses the ground to quickly remove her spear. It's as though she wants to erase all the evidence of her wicked aim and skill, preferring instead to be mistaken for someone with no real talent. Her district partner is nowhere near as good, managing to only puncture small holes in the limbs of the dolls. I watch as they throw their weapons again and again, the girl hitting her set target every time. With her amazing aim, she would be a rather good shooter. I think I can safely put her on my list of worthy opponents in the Games.

The bell for lunch rings as I am halfway through experimenting with another set of slingshots. Tucking the wooden instruments back in their boxes, I stand up and stretch my arms. Without shooting too much and revealing my own knack for aiming, I've been able to examine the slingshots and work out how to best make one if I need to. Felix hangs his bow and quiver on a stand and comes over to me.

"Mind if I sit with you for lunch?" he asks me, "No one else seems particularly friendly."

"If you want," I tell him, adding silently in my head. _No one seems friendly because we're not meant to be friendly to each other. We're supposed to be here to kill; it's what the Capitol dictated._

He settles down beside me with his plate of food after we make a round of the food trolleys, sitting cross-legged and looking very much like Raven. We eat in silence, not daring to break the palpable stillness that hangs over the roomful of tributes. No one else is talking, save for the heated whispers of the Careers. One of them stands up after a moment, and approaches Thresh in his solitary corner. I can smell a faint whiff of floral perfume as she walks past Felix and me.

"Want to come sit with us?" she asks Thresh, her flowing blonde hair glimmering under the bright light of the training centre, "We've got a plateful of that chocolate dessert and no one to eat it."

It seems as though all the air's been sucked out of the training centre in those few moments. Although no one looks up, we are all holding our breaths waiting for Thresh's reply. It's rare for anyone to be invited to join the Careers, much less someone from a district as poor as ours. I know that he thinks the tributes from Districts One and Two are arrogant and cruel, but with an offer as tempting as survival I wouldn't blame him for taking it. As if reading my thoughts, he catches my eye for a fleeting second before looking up at the blonde Career.

"No thanks," he tells her simply, and resumes eating.

It takes several seconds for the girl to register that she's been rejected. Whirling around, her hair lashing through the air like those discipline whips at home, she heads back to her group. On the way, she trips on my plate of food, smearing sauce all over her stylish outfit.

"What do you think you're doing? Tripping up people like this," she hisses at me, her voice seething with anger, "Watch yourself, girl. Don't try and mess with a Career."

If I could ever find my voice, I would tell her that it's all her own fault. That I wouldn't ever try messing with the Careers, because even though I'm small, I am not stupid. And that no matter how angry and tough she acts, Thresh will never join her cruel team.

"Leave her alone," says my saviour.

The blonde girl backs off as she catches Thresh's murderous glare, shaking her soiled clothes as she walks back to her fellow Careers. Thresh glances at me briefly before turning back to his food, his gaze saying '_I told you I'd stand by you'_. I smile back at him feebly, but he doesn't see it. The whole training area is silent save the occasional chewing sound. I scrape my fork across my plate, gathering up the last of the food. Half of my lunch has ended up on that blonde girl, and I have no stomach to eat the other half.

The choking silence is broken by a sound that does not belong inside this heartless training place: ringing laughter. From across the room, the District Twelve girl tosses back her head and let loose that joyous sound. Her partner grins also, bending in to whisper something in her ear. It sets her off on another laughing fit, and she clasps his hand in order to remain upright. In their matching outfits with strangely friendly behaviours, the couple from District Twelve has suddenly become the ones to watch.

* * *

**A/N: Long chapter here, I am liking the training too much to let it pass by without much mention :) I do realise that Katniss never touched on the incident with the Careers and Thresh in much detail, and I am probably going off canon, but I've decided that this is not going to follow The Hunger Games in an identical manner. Twists are set in store, and the fates of those tributes you think you know may not be what you expected after all.**

**PS. Exams coming up soon, so the updates won't be as frequent. I hope you all don't mind :)**


	16. Chapter 16: Dare or Dare

In the next couple of days, training becomes such a regular part of life that I no longer regard it as terrifying. Somehow along the way I have become good friends with Felix, and it is his friendship alone that makes me so happy and sad at the same time. Apart from Raven, and possibly Thresh, I've never connected with someone in such a way. If only we are back at home, if only we aren't pitted against each other, we would've been inseparable, part of the famous trio of best friends, but it's not possible for that in this place and time. The looming presence of the Hunger Games is robbing us of that chance to grow up together.

"You're later than usual," notes Felix as Thresh and I step out from our elevator, ready to start a new week of skills-building.

"Not my fault," I tell him, "Aqua, Seeder and Chaff were insisting on talking about tactics. They're already planning my interview!"

"Oh, Coral's been bringing that up all the time too," he says, referring to his own escort, "She says we only have five days to prepare the outfits. I told her not to bother, that I'd wear my reaping clothes again, and she had a downright fit!"

"Well, Aqua hasn't gone that far yet," I say, giggling at the funny image of an agitated Coral that Felix has conjured up in my head, "There's to be training for the talking part too, though. I can't believe that it's so soon."

"So soon," Felix echoes, suddenly sobered. We both know that I was not talking about the interview.

"There's still a week left," I say by way of consolation, but my wavering voice convinces neither me nor him, "Shall we head to knife-throwing? You told me you wanted to."

"Yes," he says, sighing, "Let's head there."

It's moments like these that make me see my life pass by right in front of me. The weighed-down looks in Felix's eyes, the hunched shoulders, and the reminder that our short days are numbered. Old Joe back home, a survivor of the wildfire that burnt down half of District Eleven fifty years ago, has told us children once that we'll relive our whole life in those few seconds when death stares us in the face. But since coming here, I've found out that this is not necessarily true. For me, my inevitable end in the Hunger Games has not brought about memories, but rather flashes of what could have been. I see the seedling of a woman, a wife and a mother, in my own eyes. I'm surrounded by the notion of what the future could have been, not only for me but for the other twenty-three tributes sharing my fate. And although the conversions with Thresh and Felix helps clear my mind of this haunting glimpse into the impossible future, there are moments, moments like this one, that brings it all crashing back.

"Are you alright?" Felix asks me, his face a mask of concern, "If you hate knives that much, we can go somewhere else."

I nod and try to arrange my features into a smile, deliberately walking faster and pulling him with me. Somewhere between the first and second day, 'sticking together' and 'try to compromise' have become unspoken promises between him and me. And besides, it's not my reluctance of the station that slowed me down before. It's those thoughts, those floating what-if that, if known to Felix, will earn me the title of 'silly sentimental girl'.

"Slow down, Miss Rue!" he yelps playfully as we near the knife-throwers, with me still in front and fairly pulling him along. Heads turn our way at the sound of his voice. Automatically I let go of his wrist, taking a step backwards. It's those other tributes' eyes, confirming to me that the boy from Eight and I are friends, _good _friends, that scalds my hand like hot water. Because after all this time basking in the simple companionship of each other, I still have an uneasy feeling about all of this. Somewhere deep down inside me, I know that our friendship will probably end up as the cause of some great tragedy.

"What was that for?" he asks me some moment later, his eyes wearing an injured look, "I thought we are..."

"We are," I say hastily, "Of course we are. It's just that..."

I trail off. How am I supposed to tell him my gut feelings?

"What?" he asks, "That just because they said we're here to kill each other, we can't be friends? I thought you weren't the type to submit to that kind of order easily."

I have nothing to say. He needs nothing, anyway. Turning away, he stalks off the nearby station, plucking a handful of coarse ropes and knotting them together angrily. Although I know he is genuinely mad at me, there's this absurd part in me that wants to laugh. There's something so childish and funny about his grudge that I have to muffle my mouth on my sleeve so that I don't offend him further with my amusement. Fine, if he wants to be mad, he can be mad.

Turning my back to his sulking form, I pick up a couple of knives off the racks. They come in all shapes and sizes here, from enormous machetes to compact daggers that can fit comfortably in my small palm. The smaller knives are incredibly light, their blades sharpened to a gleaming edge. If I could get my hands on one of these in the arena, then surviving the Games would be so much easier.

Another pair of small hands reaches over to pick up the daggers, swiping up a handful of handles in a graceful sweep. I look up to the receding back of the proud girl from District Two, her dark hair swishing from side to side as she bounds back to her targets. The stuffed dolls stand before her, all of them bigger than she is. Spreading her feet to shoulder-width, the girl from Two grips a blade by the point and pulls it back behind her head. The tip of the knife hits the doll in the heart, and it's only seconds before the rest of her knives pierce to dummy in multiple places.

Her district partner gives her a small smile as she goes to reclaim her weapons. Somehow I do not expect that giant of a boy from District Two to be able to feel any emotion, let alone fondness for his district partner. Maybe it's the fact that he volunteered to be here, maybe it's because of the grim mask that he wears all the time.

Thresh is also there near those targets, practicing with a blade that is as long as my arm. He makes it look so easy, the way he swings it through the air like it's a ribbon, not the heavy killing instrument that I tried to pick up only moments earlier. We've stayed true to our promises to Chaff; we have not spoken much to each other in these training sessions. But now and then we would catch each other's eyes. This silent communication has made our stranger-charade much easier to bear.

"Look, I'm sorry about before," says a quiet voice from over my shoulder after about ten minutes, "I shouldn't have gotten mad. Friends?"

Biting back a smile, I turn around to face Felix. I offer him my hand by way of answering his question, and he takes them in between his own.

"Ha, I knew you couldn't hold a grudge for long," I add, unable to hold back the grin any longer, "Guess who's better at giving the silent treatment?"

"Hey!" he says in a mock-hurt tone, but his eyes are already gleaming with some crazy idea for a competition, "Well, I bet I can do everything else better than you!"

"Really?" I say, adrenaline already pumping at the thought of a challenge, "I'm pretty sure that I'm way better than you at being unnoticeable. With a mouth as loud as yours..."

"Alright, game on," he tells me, his blue eyes sparkling, "Think you can go unnoticed? I dare you to go and..."

He pauses to look around the training centre, trying to find the hardest thing to dare me with. His gaze settles on the bunch of tributes a dozen or so metres from us, all busily wield huge blades.

"...I dare you to steal his knife without him realising it," he finishes his sentence, a look of triumph written all over his face. With his eyes he points me to the target he has selected, and grins smugly as I take in the bulk of the machete-brandishing boy from District Two. Evidently he thinks that I can't do it. Well, I guess I'll just have to prove him wrong then.

Walking slowly away from the knife station, I scan the area for possible ways of approaching District Two without his notice. With sparse covers around the knife-wielding area, the only way to get closer is from above. I let my gaze glide gradually upwards, praying inwardly that the ceiling will provide some sort of hold. The reality is even better than what I dare to hope for. The entire ceiling of the Centre is covered by a criss-crossing black mesh, thick elastic bands that form a net overhead. If I can somehow get in between the netting and the concrete ceiling, I can move to be directly over the District Two boy.

Strolling partway across the Centre, I stop by the knot-tying station to slip two thin coils of wire into my pocket. I can feel Felix's curious stare on my back as I walk towards one of the largest station inside the Training Centre. The artificial tree looms over me as I approach it. Flexing my fingers, I place my hands onto the rough bark of the evergreen and begin my ascent. The spools of wire bounce lightly against my thigh as I scale the tree, moving along side branches until I reach the top corner of the Centre.

The highest branch has managed to rip a sizable opening through the black mesh, its leaves poking through the gash to touch the ceiling above. With one hand gripping the branch, I straighten from my crouch and reach up to hole. It's wide enough for me to get through, but from where I am I cannot hoist myself through it. Taking a dangerous step, I force my weight downwards onto the branch and wait for it to rebound. It springs back like a Jack-in-the-box, flinging me upwards. Catching onto the elastic bands of the mesh, I pull myself into the ceiling.

It's only a short distance from the tree-climbing station to where District Two is, but when I am inching along on elastic netting it feels like an eternity. Lying face down on the mesh, I reach back into my pocket to take out the reels of wire. I've only done this kind of thing once, when Raven dared me to steal an apple from the Peacekeeper's sack a year back. Unwinding the wire, I weave them several times through the elastic bands and tie two adjustable loops in the ends. Loosely knotting the wires around my wrists, I wait for District Two to set his knife down. When he moves away to compete in knife-throwing against the dark-haired girl from his own District, I lower the loops and position them on either ends of the blade. With a flick of my wrist, the knots tighten themselves.

I move back a dozen inches or so. The slack wires become taunt, mere slivers in the air. Balancing my knees on the wider elastic bands, I crouch up suddenly and yank my wrists back. The wires I've threaded through the mesh gleams in the light as my movement causes the knife the catapult into the air, suspended by two thin wires. In a matter of milliseconds the blade lies flat against the netting. Tying the ends of the wires to the mesh bands under me, I crawl back to my new blade. Below, a commotion has started.

"Who took my knife?" shouts District Two, his brows pointed in anger. He rounds on another boy nearby, his fists clenched and ready for a fight.

"Hey! You two! Break it up!" yells Atala, running over from across the Centre to pull District Two away from his victim. Not before he manages to deliver a punch to the other boy's nose though.

"Enough! No one took anyone else's knife!" shouts Atala, forcing District Two's arms behind his back, "You probably misplaced it. Now calm down!"

I slide the blade through the gaps in the elastic bands, carefully inching back to the tree corner with the knife clutched in my left hand. This is no time to get caught. The fight below has spread, with the partners of District Two and the other boy jumping in to their defences. The knife station is a tumble of fists and barbed words, with shocked bystanders fringing the brawl. Glancing below, I catch the golden eyes of a particularly amused boy. Thresh's gaze slide from my face to the gleaming blade in my hand, and ever so slowly he winks and grins. I bring my free hand to my mouth and touch the index finger to my lips. He nods, and looks away with a smug smile. _It's a secret._

At the edge of the ceiling, I scan the room for Felix. He is standing by the knot-tying station, trying desperately not to stare at me. Catching his eyes, I smile slowly and motions to the knife lying in my hand. The flabbergasted look on his face is worth all the trouble of climbing up here and risking District Two's anger. He raises his hands in defeat, just a little upward movement as to not reveal my location.

_I hate to say it, but I told you so Felix._


	17. Chapter 17: Thresh's Story

On the night before our last training day, the whole Capitol seems to shimmer with a veil of colour. Everywhere people are bustling to and fro, and shopfronts are decorated with the gaudy merchandise of the Hunger Games. From figurines of tributes to a miniature model of last year's arena, anything and everything Hunger-Games-related are on show. From my window I can see tiny figures strolling the streets with scarves from districts that they support, and a few women even had their hair done in the way of Katniss Everdeen with flaming scarves and a long braid. Tomorrow night the scores from the training will be broadcasted, and the Games sponsorship will officially begin.

I can't sleep, not even when I close the curtains and pull the duvet over my face. The good time I've had with Felix is coming to a close so soon. Too soon. This past week has been one of the rare times I've acted my age, just a twelve-year-old kid performing stupid dares for the sheer fun of doing it. Not a dutiful daughter who's working to help feed her family. Not the eldest sister mothering her younger siblings. Not even a tribute going to face her death. Felix has made me forget all that, just like Raven used to do. I am just a girl around both of them.

I get out of bed and shrug on a warm robe, tying the belt tightly around my waist. The clock on the other side of the room tells me that it's past midnight. Stepping into a pair of fluffy slippers, I walk out of my room and close the door softly behind me. I don't even know what I mean to do once I'm outside my bedroom, but my feet take me forward nonetheless. Towards the grand living area where a lone light is still shining.

I am expecting Chaff to be here, just like how he was last time I wandered here in the middle of the night. Dropping into one of the free couches, I tuck my feet up and nod at the looming silhouette across from me.

"Morning, Rue," says a voice, one that I do not expect, "You're up early."

"I thought you were Chaff," I say, sitting up to get a better look at the figure before me.

"No, still have both my hands attached," says Thresh in a bemused voice, "Better get your eyes checked before the Games, little sister. Can't afford to have you following randoms because you think you know them."

"My eyes are still in sleep mode," I say by way of an excuse, "What are you doing here?"

"Can't sleep," he says simply, "I take it that you can't either?"

"Hmmm," I nod, "I can't stop thinking about how close we are to the actual Games. This will probably sound really weird to you, but I've enjoyed being here so far. Everyone I've met are lovely, especially you and Felix. And now I have only a handful of days before we're being set to fight head-to-head."

"You're real close to that Felix kid, aren't you?" he asks me, "If you want my advice, try to steer clear of that kid. It's no good setting up alliances only to be hurt later on."

"I never said I wanted your advice," I bristle, "There's nothing wrong with trusting him. I can almost trust him with my life, even."

"Not with your life, Rue," he says, "Never trust anyone with your life, or your feelings for that matter."

"Why not?" I shoot back, my lack of sleep making that sound even more irritable than I intend.

"Look, if you give someone your whole-hearted trust, you may as well skewer your heart and give it to them," he tells me, "It's those who you trust the most who are able to break your heart in the cruellest way. So unless if you want that to happen, be careful Rue."

"It hasn't happened to me before," I say, shrugging my shoulders, "What are the chances of it happening now?"

"Chances are always unpredictable," he replies, his eyes sad, "Trust me, I've learnt it the hard way."

"Chances are meant to be unpredictable," I tell him, trying to find some way to argue back.

"More unpredictable than you think," he warns me, "Things you'd never dream of happening happen, and people you'd never dream of leaving leave."

"Felix wouldn't betray me, not now, not in the arena," I say, trying to sound as convincing as I can, "I know it in my bones."

"That's what I thought too," he tells me, then continues, his eyes pained, "My best friend, leaving me stranded when I needed him the most? I thought it'd never happen, but it did. All I'm saying is 'be careful' Rue."

"I am being careful," I say, "But what happened, Thresh?"

Seeing the way his fingers are twined around each other, strangled into a painful grip, I add hastily, "Don't talk about it if you don't want to. We can talk about..."

"It's fine," he says after a sigh, "No point in me hiding it. And you're as good a person as any to share that memory. I'll tell you about it, as long as you promise me to never trust as whole-heartedly as I did. The pain's seriously not worth it."

"Alright, I promise," I tell him, wanting very much to hear his story.

"His name was Jamal. Still is Jamal. We'd been friends since the very first day of school, two little awkward boys sticking together. By the time we were old enough to work in the fields, we were inseparable. We used to hunt, you know. Sneaking out in the dark of the night, so that we would be in position by the time the sun rises. It wasn't anything fancy, just a homemade slingshot and a couple of stones. Mighty useful when hunting grooslings and other birds though.

"I wasn't much of a shooter, so Jamal always ended up at the top of the trees with slingshot in hand. I was the runner at the bottom, collecting the birds as they fall and hiding them as best I could. We've been doing that since we were eight, and we haven't been caught a single time. So our bad luck was long overdue by the time a Peacekeeper found us. Well really he found just me.

"For some freak reason a Peacekeeper was patrolling in the morning, the exact morning we decided to hunt. He found me with my hand sticky from blood and feathers, a groosling poking its head out of my satchel. There was no getting out of that one. He took me by the arm, his gun pointed to my back as he dragged me to the square. I was thirteen then, but my shoulder matched his.

"Jamal was nowhere in sight. I looked to the treetops, desperate to find him. I was terrified of what they'd do to me, and I wanted him by my side more than ever. I found him eventually, crouching on a branch with slingshot in one hand and another groosling in the other. As he saw me looking, he stood up and jumped to another branch. And another. And another. Going further and further away from me. He abandoned me to whatever the Peacekeeper had in store for my crime. For **our **crime."

I sit stock still, my heart aching for Thresh. I cannot even begin to comprehend how he could've felt. Perhaps if I take the pain from my parting with Raven at the Justice Building, and then multiply it by a million times, it might come close to what Thresh must've felt. Really, I don't know what I'd do if Raven abandons me, if even Thresh or Felix leaves.

"Thirty lashes," Thresh continues, his eyes lost somewhere back in memory, "That's what they gave me, after much begging from my grandma. It didn't hurt anywhere near as much as Jamal's betrayal though. So don't you go and trust anyone too much, Rue."

"Thresh," I say softly, the only syllable I can speak coherently. It feels natural to reach over and wrap my arms around his shoulder, sharing the load of his pain with him. I don't think I've ever heard Thresh talk so much at once before, and definitely not about something as personal and raw as this. Strangely enough, I feel as much anger towards this coward Jamal for abandoning Thresh as though he had betrayed my real brother.

"Hey, no pity please," he tells me, but he does not shrug my hug off, "Just be careful, Rue."

"But my Mama said that if I don't take a risk, I'll never be able to experience true joy," I say after a long moment, my mind made up about the whole situation.

"Well, your Ma has always been famous for her wise words," Thresh tells me, smiling a little at the sight of the determined glimmer in my eyes, "But I don't know if the Hunger Games is the place to be taking risks."

"No potential pain, no gain," I say firmly.

"Alright, if that's what you want, Miss Rue," he says, lounging back in his chair. The subject of trust is dropped, thankfully. I don't think I can afford to think too much about these things. The last thing I want to feel right now is self-doubt.

"You know, sometimes I wish that there's no Districts, no Capitol," says Thresh after a moment of silence, "Hell, sometimes I wish there's no Panem."

"Thresh!" I say, a little louder than I intended, "Seeder says..."

"Never mind what Seeder thinks of this," he continues, undeterred, "If only there's nowhere to bind us down, nothing that we are forced to do, no one to write our lives for us like it is a script to be tossed aside. Just us, just people who are all equal, in a vast land plentiful of good stuff."

Although I protested before, I can't help but picture the beautiful world that he is describing. No more Capitol, no more Hunger Games, no more poverty. A place where we are all free, flying to our hearts' content like mockingjays. A place where I'll be able to grow up without fear of starvation, of being reaped and murdered in the grossest way possible. And it's incredibly tempting, this idea that Thresh has for a world full of freedom. It's just a pity that we can never get there.

"If only we could live in that world," I say to him sadly, "I can almost hear the music there, you know. Beautiful lilting songs, with singers whose voices are sweeter than honey. Where we can dance all night long and not worry about work the next day. Where I can have a piano, all properly tuned, and a teacher to teach me how to make the loveliest music in the whole wide world."

"Maybe we'll get there one day," Thresh tells me, standing up, "But we can have that kind of music right now, if you want. I found this really cool machine that can sing and play all sorts of instrument. Come, I'll show you."

I uncurl my legs and stand up, following Thresh's footsteps to the other side of the living room. He's busy fiddling with a small white machine, a little square box with two sticks poking out of its top. He presses a couple of buttons and turns a knob, and from nowhere strains of music fill the room. It's a slow song, like one of those that Pa sang occasionally to Ma, theirs eyes always shining as Pa serenades his lover. But the words aren't those of a love song.

_"It'll be alright,_

_We're by your side_

_So raise your head and smile your brightest smile_

_Although it's hailing out there,_

_Broken heart from a million tears,_

_Just raise your head and all will be worth while_

_So sing this song for hope_

_For dancing barefoot in the rain_

_For love, for happiness, for joy_

_And we'll never have to part ways ever again"_

"Care to dance, Miss Rue Thornton?" asks Thresh, offering me his hand.

I smile and take it, putting my smaller palm inside his. It's like a scene out of one of those stories that Ma used to tell us, where a prince takes a princess by the hand and they dance to a full orchestra. With the soft music swelling quietly in the background, I spend the night dancing around the living room with my big brother.

* * *

**A/N: And we finally got to the last day of training (also known as the Private Sessions xD) Please tell me if this whole character development through conversion thing is working or not, because I know it's telling rather than showing *insert tutting noises from English teacher here* but I can't think of another way to give the background of characters other than Rue. **


	18. Chapter 18: The Last Day of Training

The atmosphere is grim inside the Training Centre, for it is the last day that we'll step foot in here. Aqua has given Thresh and me a rundown of the schedule for our final training day, and it seems as though every single hour is filled with something. We are to spend the morning fine-tuning our skills, only to be whisked off to a light lunch with a side of tactics talk. The Private Sessions will be held this afternoon, where we'll be given a score that could potentially make or break us in the arena. I'm crossing everything that I have in the hopes that it won't be the latter.

No one is doing much this morning, merely floating around and picking up weapons half-heartedly. The Careers are trying to hold up their image with a show of knife-throwing, but I can tell from their eyes that they are as nervous about the Private Sessions as the rest of us. Felix has pulled me to the camouflage station earlier, but I told him I needed some time alone and he complied. There's conflicting feelings inside me, stirred about by my talk with Thresh last night, and even though I've decided to trust Felix, there's apprehension in my heart where there was none before. Walking quietly around the perimeter of the centre, I pause here and there to study my fellow tributes. It's about time I get serious about the Games, and I can start by learning as much about my competitors as I can.

The Careers are the easiest to figure out. Even though that District Two boy, Cato, acts tough, it's clear from the way he looks at his district partner that he feels something for her. It's also clear that he will probably kill everyone else without a thought, just so that they can stay together for longer. District One is much the same, although it is the girl who wears a wistful look in her eyes from time to time. I swear, every time her district partner looks at her, her rosy cheeks becomes a little redder and her hand falls on her stomach. It's ironic that there's so much romance going into a place fraught with death and pain.

Gwendolyn Hart is a much harder book to read. Still studious, she runs he hands through the various plants at the foraging station over and over. I must've spent a large portion of time looking at her, but even then I cannot figure her out. The rest of the tributes are nervous wrecks, and even Felix is not looking like his usual chirpy self. The only two acting like they've always acted are the pair from Twelve. Katniss and Peeta, if I remember correctly.

Their heads are bent together at the knot-tying station, their voices low. Katniss is busy tightening a couple of knots, while the blond boy beside her is still struggling to loop the ends of his ropes together. I can see her fingers flying, twisting together some pretty complicated snare knots. She is mighty good at tying them. The only ones I've seen that are better are those Pa makes. But then again, he is something of a wiz at setting snares to catch the occasional groosling or squirrel. Without really intending to, my feet take me closer to them. Hidden behind a concrete post, I peer out at those two friends from District Twelve. There's something about Katniss, the girl who is apparently good at everything, that draws me to her.

Suddenly their eyes are turned my way as Peeta whispers something into Katniss' ear. I freeze for a moment, all thoughts leaving my head like a deer caught in a spotlight. They are staring straight at me, Katniss with her gray eyes full of this indescribable emotion. Her cocked head and eyes like a still pond in winter bring back movement into my limbs. I duck behind the post, counting to ten slowly before slipping away from them. Keeping to the shadows of the back wall of the Centre, I tiptoe away to the best place to hide. The tree-climbing station and its huge evergreen.

_They must've thought I was following them, _I think, _Which is true, in a way._ Safely hidden in the leaves of the tall tree, I lean back against the trunk. I must polish up on my sneaking skills. It wouldn't do to be caught as easily as that. Although I must admit that Peeta has incredibly sharp hearing; I've always been told that I make no noise when I walk. Or maybe his senses are just extra alert because he's around Katniss. He might've fooled her into thinking that they are just friends, but I can tell that he's wishing for something more than that. It's funny, really, that all these tributes around me are acting exactly like those older teenagers back at home. With their stolen looks at their crushes, their tough charades and their pretence.

His eyes aren't like those of the Career boys though. They are dripping with tenderness and an almost-worship look intended just for Katniss. The puppy-dog gaze is not something I'd expect a boy with a build as strong as Peeta to have. Really, if that's what happens when people fall in love, I'd rather not love anyone at all.

It's the picture of Katniss and her grey eyes that stay with me though. I can't place my finger on the word that can describe those eyes. They are like strong steel and soft velvet at the same time. They are determined and gentle, the same two words that I would use to describe my mother's eyes and the eyes of my entire family. Those are the qualities we've all inherited, especially Anise. Quiet, clever Anise who had seen too much for a girl of seven, and who had lent all her determination and love through that one kiss as she sends me on my way.

"Mind if I sit here?" asks a very familiar voice, still huffing slightly from having to climb all the way to the top of this tree.

"It's not exactly my tree, is it?" I say back, "Yeah, come sit. Oh come on, we can't talk if you're all the way over there. Come closer, I'm not going to push you all of the tree or anything."

"Still wanting to be alone with your thoughts?" asks Felix, sidling to a branch right on my left.

"Nah," I shake my head, "My thoughts aren't the greatest company right now. I don't want to think anymore. Tell me something. Anything, a story or a song or whatever you want."

"Well," he starts, "I'll tell you about District Eight and my family. I have three older brothers, you know."

"Really" I say, "I've always thought you were the eldest too. Maybe it's because I'm the oldest child."

"Nah, I wish," he tells me, "Three brothers, the one closest to my age still a good eight years older than me. The 'rents didn't expect to have me, you know. I was, **_am, _**still the unwanted surprise. Another mouth to feed, and the runt of the family at that. Well, that's what Cathal always tells me. He's my second-oldest brother, and the nastiest out of the three. Sometimes I think going to the Hunger Games is a blessing, if only because it's a guarantee I'll never have to see his face again."

"But he's your brother!" I tell him, my mind unable to comprehend that someone can dislike their brother. I love Fern as much as I love the rest of my family, and that's a lot of love.

"I wish he isn't," he says, "They all told me to act tough when they came to visit before the train took us away. Cathal told me to drop the ninny act and try to be half a man. God knows I've tried, but I can't be tough like them. It's not me."

"I'm glad you didn't follow their advice," I say, "Otherwise I'd be too scared to talk to you, let alone be friends."

"You, Miss Rue Thornton, scared of me?" he laughs, "I was under the impression that you are fearless. Apart from being scared of getting caught spying on the couple from Twelve."

"Hey, shut up!" I lean over and punch him lightly on the arm, "That was awkward. And for your information I'm terrified of more things than you can count."

"Join the club, Rue," he says, rubbing his arm with his face scrunched in mock-hurt, "The Private Session's tonight, and I'm terrified of the prospect of having to really consider how I'll survive the Games. You know, I just can't for the life of me imagine everyone in here stabbing each other's backs."

"I can," I say, looking though the leaves towards the Careers, "Only some of them though. The others' tactics are much harder to read."

"Well, maybe I trust too much," he tells me, "Maybe that'll be the death of me."

_I guess that makes two of us. _

"Ariel has been warning me about it too, you know," he says, referring to his district partner, "She told me that I may as well run straight into a sword, because the amount of trust I'm dishing out will come back to finish me off. I only realised what she meant after the shock of hearing her speaking wore off. She has never said more than two words to me before."

"Thresh says much of the same, too," I tell him, "Well, maybe they have a point. I don't see us grappling each other's throat in the arena, like we're supposed to."

"We won't have to," he reminds me, "Friends equal allies, remember?"

"Yeah, allies," I echo. _I don't know how long that will last though._

The piercing ring of the bell shocks us both out of our skin. Grappling onto his branch, Felix heaves himself upright again. It's lunchtime, but today it will be different. We are to eat with our District team instead of with other tributes. It's the final preparation for the Private Session in a few hours' time, and Aqua has told me and Thresh to get back as soon as possible. Scrambling down the tree, I head towards the elevator, with Felix in tow.

"Good luck for tonight," he tells me as he quickens his pace to get into the same elevator as his district partner.

"You too," I reply, "With a little bit of luck it'll all turn out okay."

"Well, lend me your luck because you clearly won't need it," he says, smiling that flattering smile of his, "Not with talents like yours."

I elbow him, pretending to be annoyed at his teasing manner. But instead of bumping me back, he sticks out his hand and extends his little finger towards me.

"Promise me?" he asks.

I am tempted to ask him 'Promise you what?' but I already know the answers. _Promise me that you'll ace the private session. Promise me that we'll stay friends. Promise me to never change._

I lift my little finger too, slowly. And just as slowly, I curl it around his. _I promise. Only if you give me your word to do the same._


	19. Chapter 19: Private Session

The door closes for the fifteenth time as Felix steps into his Private Session, leaving the handful of us to our nerves and butterfly-filled stomachs. We are seated in a loose order, with each district grouped together even if the tributes are not talking to each other. I'm closer to the back of the room, just a few feet away from where Thresh is sitting. He has closed his eyes and is leaning back against the wall, probably deep in thoughts about his performance for the Gamemakers. We've gone over each of our Sessions in detail earlier, as Chaff and Seeder have mapped out our every tactics for us. Thresh is supposed to demonstrate his strength and stamina, and the wicked ways that he wields any kind of blade. If you ask me, I don't think he needs to do a thing for the Gamemakers. The sheer bulk of him, radiating with power and strength, is more than enough to impress anyone.

They told me to show off my speed, stealth and my knowledge of plants, and, if I can, throw in a couple of shots from the slingshot. It's not exactly a winning combination of skills, but I think I can scrape myself a five if I do it all correctly. I know it's not much, hoping for a five out of twelve, but most tributes from districts as poor as ours only get about three or four. And I've got to be realistic, no matter what Chaff told me about hope.

Before I know it, the room has emptied. Thresh is flexing his fingers quietly, waiting for his name to be called. I don't know how he does it, but his face is a mask of calm. He stands up quickly as the man at the door calls his name, moving with grace unexpected of someone of his size. He turns back slightly before he steps towards the door, and lays his hand briefly on my shoulder. I muster up a smile for him, completing our silent good luck wishes to each other. In a few light steps, he's across the room and out the door. I am officially alone, with only the couple from Twelve for company.

They seem to be engrossed in their own talks, whispering fiercely to each other then falling silent as the girl turns away. Her eyes pan the room, looking at anything and everything but her district partner, and eventually they fall on me. I look straight back at her, my head held still as if I am bewitched. It must've only been seconds, but it feels like we've been staring at each other for hours. The harsh voice of the man at the door breaks our eye contact moments later, calling for me to get ready. I look away from those troubled gray eyes and stand up.

It's the worst feeling to be waiting here at the door. My head is swimming with all the things I need to prove to the Gamemakers, and my thoughts are more confused than ever after looking into Katniss' eyes. There's something about her that makes me think of Ma and her wise words. Ma told me once that everyone is one-of-a-kind special, and not even the lowliest soul has to prove his right to live. It's ironic, really, that right now I have to prove that I'm worthy of being kept alive.

A resounding ring of a gong tells me that I'm now allowed to walk into my Private Session. The bronze-haired man at the door fairly pushes me through the entrance, promptly shutting the double doors shut behind me. The Private Session is held in the Training Centre, but it's been changed so much that I feel a little disorientated. Instead of small stations being scattered around the area, the floor has been cleared and everything that I can possible need is stacked in neat piles along the wall. In the north corner, the huge evergreen is standing invitingly. On the far side of the arena a wall has been opened up, showing a little deck where a dozen or so Gamemakers lounge on their chairs. With their powdered wigs and ridiculous clothes, they don't look at all like the type of people who should be holding others' fate in their hands.

"Rue Thornton, is it?" asks a reedy-voiced man, continuing as I nod, "Alright, let's see what you can offer us."

I nod again, and walk to the far corner where my tree is. Clambering up at lightning speed, I part the leaves at the top of the tree to show them that I've climbed up in record time. But they aren't watching. At least half of the Gamemakers are busy chatting to each other, and the other quarter is shoving all kinds of food down their painted mouths. Standing up and bending my knees, I leap over to a small platform protruding from the wall. Walking on air, I fly from platform to platform. Maybe some movement will catch their attention. Landing on a concrete block that also serves as a knife target, I turn around. Still nothing. Being the youngest and smallest tribute, I think they've all wrote me off before I even got in here.

Fine, if they want some extra jazz, I'll give them some extra jazz. I need this chance, I need it so much to survive, and right now I'm prepared to do almost anything for it. I walk over to the wall, scouting for some plants. Spying a couple nestled in between quivers of arrows, I empty two baskets of berries, leaves and nuts onto the floor. Sorting them into 'poisonous' and 'edible', I pause between each movement to see if the Gamemakers are watching. No, not really.

Finished with my sorting, I secure some lids onto the baskets and grab a slingshot in hand. A plan's brewing in my mind as I walk back to the tree and begin to climb up again. Just like the time Felix dared me to steal Cato's knife, I clamber all the way to the top and ease myself through the black mesh. It's hard this time though. The two baskets of plants bounce on my back as I crawl along. The slingshot is hanging from my belt, the elastic part dangling over the black netting. I don't even know where the slingshot will come into play, but a strange instinct has told me to keep a hold on it. Finally I am just a few feet away from those Gamemakers, lying on my stomach right on the edge of the netting.

Most of them are sitting around a large table, their attention caught by platters of food. I reach back to untie the baskets from my waist, holding them in my hands, waiting. I scan around for an empty space, not wanting to ruin any food with my attempt. As a dark-haired serving girl removes a dish from the table, I throw a basket at the empty spot. It lands exactly in front of a woman in an orange wig, and seconds later my other basket joins its side. She looks up for a moment, confused. Then, with her long nails, she pry open both baskets and pour the contents out. So much for me sorting them into poisonous and non-poisonous.

The flurry of wild plants has caught others' attention. My berries and leaves are being scrutinised by at least ten of the Gamemakers. Some of them are even looking out into the training area to try and find me, but of course I'm nowhere to be found. Take that, Gamemakers!

The orange-wigged woman picks up a particular purple veined leaf, and as she tears it in half and brings it to her nose, something inside of me snaps. The smug grin I am wearing fades off my face. It's shadowtorn in her hand, one of the most lethal plants in Panem. No matter how much I dislike them, I never mean to harm any of the Gamemakers. Reaching my arms over the edge of the netting, I frantically search my pockets for something that I can shoot. My fingers find a handful of edible berries, and I load them into my slingshot. Flinging the elastic forward, I aim the berry at the deadly shadowtorn.

The leaf is knocked out of her hand in an instant, the force of the berry squishing it against the table top. Acting on impulse, I reload my slingshot and continue shooting. The Gamemakers have all moved back a step as my red berries splatter on a collection of plants. Only when I finish branding all the poisonous plants with blood-red berry juice do I realise the expression on the Gamemakers' faces. I didn't think it was possible for these people to feel any real emotion, but right now they are terrified. Maybe even as terrified as I am of them.

The slingshot slides out of my hand, slippery with sweat. I plunge my arm downwards to catch it. The sudden movement makes the elastic groan, giving away my position. I wanted their full attention before, and now I've got it. Suddenly shy again, I sidle backwards and clamber out of the black mesh. _My God, what have I done? Shooting berries at the Gamemakers, and offering them poisonous plants? _Without even intending to, I've reduced my chances of a decent score to zero. The odds are never in my favour.

In less than a minute I am standing in front of the Gamemaker's judging deck. I'm half expecting them to give me a negative score for Training, and to order me to be killed as soon as possible in the Bloodbath. Or at the very least yell at me for being such an idiot.

"What are the red berries for?" ask a balding man instead, breaking the silence.

"They're..." I try to say, the words clogging up in my mouth.

"Speak up, girl," he orders.

"They're poisonous, the plants that I've shot..." I say softly, adding at the very last moment, "...sir."

"And the others?" he queries.

"They're all right," I reply, "Safe."

"Well, now that we've got that clarified, you may go," he tells me, gesturing towards the exit.

I stand for a moment, shocked. They've said nothing about wanting to punish me. I dare say they are even interested in what I did. Why else would they ask so many questions? Slowly, feelings return to my limbs. _I did it! I made them watch me!_ Those thoughts bring a smile to my face. Perhaps now they won't consider me as another Bloodbath tribute, a weakling and a good-for-nothing girl. Before I leave, I dip my head down in a small curtsey. Without even glancing back to see their faces, I walk out.

* * *

**A/N: Eeeeep so close to the interview! And then the arena! This sounds insane, but I am actually so excited that I'm literally bouncing as I'm typing this xD Enjoy, my dears :)**


	20. Chapter 20: Training Scores

Dinner is a small affair tonight. The scores for the Private Session is going to be broadcasted at nine, a mere fifteen minutes away, and no one can manage to continue eating. I haven't touched my chocolate cake, even though it's sitting so invitingly in front of me. All I can hear is the clock ticking, and with each tick my stomach churns a little more. The confidence I had at the end of my Session has disappeared. The more I think about what I did, the more I am convinced that the Gamemakers will make me pay for my daringness.

At five to nine, everyone stands up from their seats. Like me, I don't think anyone else can wait another agonising second. Heading over to the corner where the television is, we all sit down around the coffee table. Aqua reaches under the glass tabletop to pick up the remote control. I try to sink further into the sofa, but instead of making me more comfortable, the enveloping fabric only suffocates me.

"It's okay, Rue," says Seeder, reaching over to pat my hand, "From what you told me, it seems like you did all you could. Doing your best is all that matters, dear"

"But I don't know if that's enough," I tell her, "And plus, I did leave out a few details about the Session..."

"Your best is always enough," confirms Seeder, smiling kindly, "There's no point fretting about it now, Rue. It's all up to the Gamemakers now, and no matter what you get, there are always things to be learnt from the mistakes that you made, and there will be things to improve on."

"May as well make the mistakes now, and get a low Training score," adds Chaff, "Then to make the mistakes later in the Games and get killed."

Somewhat consoled, I turn to the screen. The official broadcast has not started yet. The television is humming with the soft banter of Caesar Flickerman and Cladius Templesmith, the volume turned to the bare minimum by Aqua. As the clock on the corner of the screen flickers to seven o'clock, the camera cuts away from the two men to show a woman in a cotton-candy wig standing in front of the judging deck in the Training Centre. In the exact spot where I was only a few hours ago.

"... tributes have shown all that they have," she says, her voice getting louder as Aqua turns up the volume, "After ten days of intense training, the twenty four tributes from our twelve districts are finally ready. Tonight, the results of their training will be revealed. Let's start off with District One boy, Marvel Killeen."

The face of the blond boy from One fills the screen, and a large 'nine' appears beside it after a moment. That is expected, of course. Careers usually get a score ranging from eight to ten. The green-eyes girl called Glimmer Ross gets an eight, and both tributes from District Two got a ten. The scores dropped for District Three, only to catapult back up as District Four comes on. Gwendolyn Hart from Five got a six, a pretty good score for a non-Career. The girl from Seven receives a three, marking her pale face out to potential sponsors that she'll probably end up being a Bloodbath tribute. I cross my fingers as Felix's face appears on the screen. The number 'five' appears next to his face. _It's okay, a five will still give him some sponsors. He'll be okay._

The other tributes' faces pass by in a blur. I straighten as Thresh's name is announced, his picture staring out at us from the screen. I'm holding my breath so hard that I swear my lungs are going to explode. When a magical 'ten' appears on the screen, I literally jump off my seat.

"You did it. You did it!" I repeat over and over as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, "A TEN! You're making history right here, Thresh!"

"Awww Rue, sit down and watch or else you're going to miss your own score," he tells me as he returns my hug, his face cracking open in the widest grin I've ever seen, "I bet you're going to do swell."

"I don't know about that," I reply as I untangle my arms from around him, a smile bubbling to my lips, "But now I know at least one of us will make it home. Who would've thought a tribute from District Eleven would get a better score than the Careers?"

"The _same _as the Careers," he corrects me, yet still wearing that proud smile on his face, "Now shhhh, they're announcing your name."

I force myself down onto my seat, folding my hands in my lap as I wait for my picture to flash on. Strangely enough, now that I know Thresh's score, I am not feeling anywhere near as nervous as before. Finally I am staring into my own brown eyes, and in a split second a number appears beside my face.

_It's a seven! I'm good enough to get a SEVEN!_

"See, I told you that you would do well," Thresh says, grinning like crazy at me, "Looks like District Eleven will be the one to beat this year then."

"Good job, Rue," says Chaff, as Seeder pulls me into a bone-crushing hug.

I feel like my head is going to burst into fireworks at this very moment. I'm so giddy with happiness and pride and self-confidence that I don't think I can string together a coherent sentence. With the exception of the Careers, Thresh and I have gotten the best scores so far.

"An eight for boy from Twelve," says Chaff, cutting into my moment of joy.

I turn to look at the screen, only to see Katniss' face. Like in real life, her stormy grey eyes draw me like magnets. But even with them staring at he and interrogating my very soul, I still can't miss the enormous 'eleven' that is appearing beside her head.

"That's the first time in three years," says Chaff, his voice suddenly gaining an edge, "Ten has been the limit for the last three years."

I sit, shell shocked. An eleven, given to none other than the girl from the poorest district in Panem. She must've done something mightily good to get a better score than Thresh and the Careers. The bubble of hope inside me is deflating faster than a loose balloon.

"Twelve's the one to look out for," Chaff tells us grimly, "Especially the girl."

"But she seems so nice, her and her district partner," I protest without thinking, "I don't believe for a second that they would hurt anyone."

"Looks are deceptive, Rue," says Chaff in that wise voice of his, making me feel small and naive.

"You've watched her like I have, Rue," Thresh says, "With such an aim, such a knack for killing and surviving, she'd be more stupid than I think she is if she doesn't utilise her skills. And I wouldn't blame her. Every single one of us tributes wants to win."

"I don't," I say, earning a shocked look from everyone in the room, "To want to win in the Hunger Games means wanting to have all the fame and glory of Victors. It means being a Career, being willing to kill everyone left, right and centre just for a lifetime in riches. I don't want that, and I don't think you do either. I just want to survive the Games, and make it back home alive. With or without the bonuses that come with being a Victor."

'Well said, Miss Rue," says Chaff after a moment of silence. It may just be me, but I swear his voice has softened at the edges.

"Well, that's that," says Aqua, switching the television screen back to black, "Congratulations you two, you both did amazingly. Now, we'd all better head off to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

"Yes, Aqua's right," agrees Seeder, standing up and stretching, "We're going over tactics tomorrow, as well as preparing you both for your interviews. Lavender and Cardamon will be coming in quite early to get their designs, and we don't want to slow them down and make them annoyed."

"An annoyed Lavender will be a pain to have around," says Chaff, shooing us back to our rooms, "And no one wants that. So off to bed you two."

"Alright, alright, we're going," Thresh says, offering me a hand. I take it, leaping easily to my feet.

"Night, everyone," I tell them as I follow Thresh out.

He walks me all the way down to my room at the far end of the corridor. Laying a hand on my shoulder, he forces me to lift my face and look at him. Right now I'm feeling so hopeless, despite my bravado and my speech to Chaff moments earlier. With so many good scores and so many contenders for the crown of the Hunger Games, I am terrified.

"You can win this. No, don't tell me that you don't want to win. Just listen," he says, his hands warm on my shoulders, "A seven is a great score. You might not remember it, but people have won the Games with a Training score of less than five before. And anyway, those Careers and the girl from Twelve will probably finish each other off. It always happens. The ones with the highest scores are the biggest targets. You're much better off with your seven. So smile, girl."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask him the question that's been nagging me since the reaping.

"Because you're Rue," he tells me, "And because..."

Leaving the sentence unfinished, he opens my door and pushes me through. Before I can open my mouth to protest, he shuts the door firmly behind me. By the time I manage to open the door again, he's already at his own door.

"You can't leave me hanging like that," I yell my question down to him, "Why, Thresh, why?"

"Just because," he replies, and closes his own door behind him.


	21. Chapter 21: Angel of the Arena

**A/N: Okay, so I completely skipped the training for the interview/tactics-talk with the mentors, but I couldn't stop myself from writing the interview. I'm planning to do one or two more posts before the actual arena, but tell me if you think that I should expand on the mentors/interview-training bit. Muchos love x**

* * *

We are told to keep our voices down as we file towards the stage door, ready to face the whole of Panem. The team has left earlier, Lavender and Cardamon taking their places by fellow stylists, and Chaff and Seeder to sit with the other mentors. Aqua has lingered a little longer, fixing up my hair and reminding me time and time again to walk gracefully. She has been practicing with me for the last few days, making me balance books and other things until I perfected the gliding walk. Apparently it's essential that I hold myself right, because every step I take is going to be judged by the entire country. Not the most comforting thought to a girl who's not used to a lot of attention.

"If you get nervous, just look at any of us, okay?" she tells me before I am shepherded into the waiting room, "Pretend that we're back at the suites, and answer everything honestly."

"Okay, Aqua," I reply, managing to squeeze in a goodbye wave before I'm swept off my feet.

There's no time to pause and look at anything as we are guided from room to room, not stopping at all until we reach a pair of large double doors. From the faint laughter floating through the cracks, I can tell that Caesar Flickerman already has the crowd wrapped around his little finger. In mere seconds we too will be on stage, all twenty four of us tributes. The doors fling open as Caesar's energetic voice announces our presence. We all take a step forward, filing on stage like a string of prisoners ready to be executed.

"And now I give you the twenty four fabulous tributes of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!" yells Caesar as we head towards our seats, plonking ourselves down district by district.

A thunderous round of applause erupts from the audience. I haven't realised how many people are actually here, watching me and judging me. Just the sight of the rippling mass of Capitolists all cheering makes me dizzy. Closing my eyes for the briefest second, I try to recollect myself. _What did Seeder say again? Oh right, smile._

It all starts to feel so surreal once District One has been called up. The steady flow of teenagers, all dressed in the most extravagant clothes, makes this seem like a celebration rather than a death sentence. Everyone looks amazing tonight, even the most sour-faced and nervous-looking tributes. The boys are all dressed in smart suits, with the girls floating around them like fairies in gossamer dresses. Of course, just like me and Thresh, everyone plays a particular angle and their clothes reflect that. Glimmer from District One is the Seductive, wearing a tiny metallic dress showcasing every inch of the woman she is. Cato's tight fitting suit lets the audience see the coils of muscles on his arms, and Gwendolyn's classic emerald dress with cuts as sharp as her mind shows her to be the cunning and intelligent girl that she is. Felix, with his dark curls glossy and a bowtie that's the same blue as his eyes, plays the angle of the friendly and innocent boy. An angle that is unsurprisingly close to what I'll be playing.

"Let's give it up for Elijah Gondal, District Ten male tribute!" says Caesar as the mousy-haired boy from Ten returns to the empty seat next to me, "And now for District Eleven. She's the angel that we've all been dying to talk to. Let's have a round of applause for Rue Thornton!"

My palms are suddenly sweating like crazy, and my throat is clogging up and drying like a dying flower. I rise from my seat and walk the dozen steps towards Caesar and the interview seat, my mouth still stretched into the ridiculous smile that Seeder insists I wear. Without thinking, I wipe my sweaty hands on the skirts of my dress. My heart plummets as I spy the small stain that they leave behind. _Crap. _Tucking the not-so-white skirt beneath me, I sit down and beam at the audience like nothing has happened.

"Hello, Rue," says Caesar conversationally, "You look particularly lovely tonight. Like a little dove, I dare say."

"Thank you," I reply, my voice sounding smaller and more childish than I want it to be, "Lavender designed it for me. She says I remind her of a little bird, and she can't help but dress me up like one."

"Lavender DuBois?" says Caesar in mock-admiration, "Why, Miss Rue, you are the object of envy for everyone tonight! She's only one of the best stylists around in Panem. Tell me, has she shown you her secret collection? All of us here are dying to see what that woman has up her sleeves."

"No," I say, a little bewildered that my crucial interview is turning out to be a fashion talk show, "She said it's strictly adult."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I told her that she might as well let me see it now," I say, "Because I won't be around as an adult to see it."

The cheery atmosphere freezes as I say those words. Caesar Flickerman, the man of many words, seems to be at a lost for them for the first time in his life. To be honest, I am shocked too. I didn't intend to say that.

"Well, the Hunger Games is known to bend many rules," recovers Caesar, "I'm sure Lavender can let the classifications slide this one time. But tell me, Rue, aside from spending all your time with the famous Lavender DuBois, have you been around the Capitol?"

_What does he think I'm here for? To sightsee the Capitol?_

"Yes," I say simply, "But in between training and all that, I haven't seen much of the Capitol."

"What do you think of our city, Miss Rue? Is it as good as District Eleven?"

A few snickers from the audience bubble up here, as well as a restrained laugh from one of those Career girls behind me. If Caesar has intended to be sarcastic, I totally missed the cue.

"Oh, it's very nice," I answer, "But I'm a country girl and I'm not used to all the bright lights. District Eleven is much quieter. It's home, and nowhere is as good as home."

"District Eleven sounds lovely, dear," he says, "Now, we've all been curious, so could you tell us a little about yourself and your family in District Eleven?"

"Well, I'm Rue and I'm twelve," I say slowly, "But I'm sure you all know that. Before the reaping two weeks ago, I used to work in the orchards in District Eleven. Picking fruits like apples and pears. My family... my family... has eight people. Well, only seven now that I'm gone."

"And you are the youngest?"

"No, the oldest. I have four little sisters and a brother. They... they're..."

"Such a large family," interjects Caesar, saving me from having to continue, "Although if all your siblings are like you, your parents have a bevy of angels on their hands. I'm the eldest too, but my siblings are nowhere near angels, and it's just so hard sometimes, isn't it? Tell me, are you more of the sweet older sister, or the bossy one?"

"I'd say sweet," I smile genuinely for the first time, "But if you ask my siblings they'd probably go for the latter. Not my fault though; I think I'd be much sweeter if I don't have be the oldest all the time."

"I can't imagine Rue being any sweeter than she is, can you?" Caesar turns to the audience, and a stream of 'No!' answers him, "Well, you won't have to be the oldest this time round though, sweet Rue. What do you think of being the youngest for once?"

"Well," I answer ever so slowly, trying to keep the optimism in my voice, "I think it'll be great. I'm the youngest and the smallest, right?"

"Right," he nods.

"The youngest, the smallest and also the hardest to catch," I tell him, pausing over each word just so that any potential sponsors can hear me loud and clear, "And my theory is this: If they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

"No, of course not," says Caesar, beaming at me as the buzzer goes for the end of my interview, "Let's give it up for Rue Thornton, everybody! Our angel in the arena!"

I stand up and smile one last smile at the audience, then turn away to walk back to my seat. It's so hard to maintain the tiny steps that I've practiced with Aqua, because right now I don't care about gliding along like an angel and highlighting my innocence. I just want to collapse into my seat and yank this confining hem off me. Thresh passes me midway as I return to my seat, and he pauses to give me a small smile. I nod a little 'good luck' to him, and float back to my chair in my flowing white dress. The frothy material swamps my feet as I sit down, my toes not touching the ground. The image of me sitting so lost in my angel dress is broadcasted briefly before they cut over to Thresh. Forlorn in my innocent-little-girl gown, with a white flower in my hair and thin silver jewellery around my neck and in my ears, I look like an angel sitting in the clouds of heaven. And it is this image that earns me a soft murmur of pity from the audience, a round of "awww" that does little to save me from the Hunger Games.


	22. Chapter 22: Awkwardness, Fire and Love

Thresh appears to be the complete opposite of me, powerful and grounded whereas I am a fluttering butterfly. He sits down beside Caesar Flickerman and reluctantly takes the older man's offered hand, letting go as soon as the handshake is over.

"It must be pretty hard on you to follow Miss Rue's angelic act," comments Caesar, settling in for yet another interview, "Tell me, are you two close? We've been lucky enough to see snippets of you two talking, and for the past week I've been flooded with mail from the audience asking about the District Eleven tributes."

"We know each other," he says, a massive understatement.

"Of course," Caesar nods, "But tell me, did you know each other beforehand, or did the Hunger Games bring you two together?"

"Hunger Games," says Thresh in that deep voice of his.

"Ah, they say shared experience brings people closer, and this clearly is the case," says Caesar, "Rue must be like a little sister to you, right? Such a sweet girl, I don't think anyone can resist befriending her."

"Yes, something like that," answers Thresh, opting to leave out the long story that comes with our friendship.

"Now, I've asked everyone about this, so it's your turn," Caesar changes the subject after an awkward silence, "How do you find the Capitol?"

"It's nice enough," he answers grudgingly. Somehow, the audience is still enraptured in him despite the fact that he's behaving so sullenly. I don't think anyone but Thresh could pull off this angle.

"Only that?" prompts Caesar, "Rue said that she prefers District Eleven to the Capitol. Now, what do you think about that?"

"I think she's right," Thresh grumbles his answer.

"For the same reasons?" asks Caesar, "Or is there a special someone at home that makes District Eleven the place to be? Ooh, there's a glimmer in his eyes! Did you all see that? So there **_is _**a special someone back home! Do tell us about her, Thresh, we're dying to hear."

It's absolutely ridiculous how our interviews are turning out. Instead of crucial words that will save our lives, our minutes with Caesar Flickerman are becoming some kind of trivial joke.

"No," says Thresh curtly, clearly sharing the same thought as me, "No one special at home."

"Come one, Thresh," probes Caesar, "You can't dangle that glimmering look in front of us, and then refuse to tell us about her. I bet the girl's on the edge of her seat now, waiting for you to admit your love."

"I told you," Thresh repeats, "There's no special someone at home."

"Ah well, you can deny it all you want, Thresh, but the whole of Panem's caught on to your little moment of love there," says Caesar teasingly, "Unless if she's here with you?"

Caesar's words hand in the air. Overhead, the huge screen projecting the interviews to the live audience shows the faces of the watching Capitolists, their mouths hanging wide open at the possibility of a brand new scandal.

"I said no one special," Thresh asserts again.

"Oh, I bet it's Katniss from District Twelve. No? It must be Glimmer then," guesses Caesar, playing it out for the audience, "What do you all think? Who's the lucky girl? Cassandra from District Six? No, no, it has to be Clove! What about Gwendolyn from Five?"

Thresh does not move a muscle, not even to shake his head at the names Caesar's throwing at him. _Do they seriously think we're here to fall in love and make friends? It's the Hunger Games, for God's sake! _At soon as the thought enters my head, I bite my lips. I can't talk. I did make friends with Felix and Thresh after all.

"Oh, I think we have a bit of a secretive boy with us," Caesar comments after Thresh's silent replies, "Well, time will tell who Thresh has his heart on. Whoever she is, she must be very lucky to gain the love of such a fine young man."

The buzzer sounds as Caesar finishes speaking, signalling that Thresh's three minutes is up. Three minutes of useless chatter, as useless as the conversations Caesar had earlier with the rest of us tributes. There's only two more to go now, the pair on fire from District Twelve.

"Both tributes of District Eleven have been particularly wonderful, haven't they?" says Caesar, rousing a massive round of applause, "Let's give it up one more time to Thresh Koring, the secretive boy from the wheat fields of District Eleven!"

In the space of seconds, Thresh's powerful form is back beside me, sitting awkwardly on a chair that is too small for him. Katniss rises as Caesar calls out her name, and the cheering from the crowd gets louder. By the time she's seated in front of the cameras, the audience have lost their heads. She has managed to get more applause than the rest of us put together. Okay, maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but Katniss clearly is the favoured one in this Games.

She is funny. And the best thing is, I don't think she's pretending. Caesar's questions are answered a little too literally by Katniss, and every word that she speaks earns her roaring laughter and clapping. Her raw honesty makes me grin too, especially at the part where she declares that the lamb stew is the best thing about the Capitol. It's easy to understand why her district partner has been looking at her with starry eyes throughout training, and even easier to see why the audience loves her so.

"Would you like me to give you all a twirl?" she asks, her voice giddy with laughter.

"The stage is yours," replies Caesar, indicating that she's free to do whatever she wishes to do.

She stands, taking a few steps closer to the audience. Her scarlet dress shimmers as she moves, the amber and deep red jewels glittering with every step. Once she has commanded the attention of everyone in the studio, she spreads out her arms and swirl slowly. Her long skirt flares out as she spins round and round, the edges almost flickering like she is on fire. As she twirl faster and faster she seems to disappear altogether, giving way to an other-worldly being whose body is pure flame. I almost miss the buzzer beeping weakly beneath the thundering applause.

"Katniss Everdeen, everyone!" shouts Caesar Flickerman over the top of the crowd, raising Katniss' hand in his as if she is already Victor.

Her face is beaming as she returns to her seat. I would be grinning like crazy too, if I were her. Once again, she has the crowd around her little finger. I can tell that the Girl on Fire will be a name remembered for some years to come yet.

"And now, last but not least, let's give it up for our final tribute Peeta Mellark!" says Caesar, evidently pleased with how the last interview went down.

The blond boy tears his eyes away from his radiant partner and steps forward to his own interview. Unlike many of us, he sits easily into the chair beside Caesar and proceeds to start a friendly banter with the man. He speaks smoothly, stirring laughter when needed and getting the entire audience on his side. This boy has a skill that the rest of us tributes sorely lacked: an ability to sway people's hearts using only words. Towards the end of the three minutes, Caesar brings up the same subject as he has with Thresh earlier.

"So a handsome boy like you," begins Caesar, '"There's got to be some girl back home, waiting for you, right?"

Unlike Thresh, Peeta smiles and continues on as though he was born to do just this.

"Well there is this one girl," confides Peeta, "But I don't even think she knows I exist."

The crowd murmurs with 'oohs' and 'ahhs', relishing in Peeta's secret. Maybe Thresh should've done this too, making up a story if he indeed had none. But then again, Thresh's image is powerful enough without him resorting to this gossipy nature.

"So here's what you do," suggests Caesar, leaning in as though he and Peeta are lifelong friends, "Win the Hunger Games, go home a hero, and sweep her off her feet."

I expect Peeta to laugh and put on a show about his homecoming, possibly with an exclusive intimate moment with said girl.

"I don't think that will do me much good," he replies instead, surprising me.

"Why not?" prompts Caesar, buying in on a good television moment.

"Because she came here with me," says Peeta after a perfectly-timed pause. The whole audience is eating out of his palms now.

The overhead screen showing the interview switches to a close-up of Katniss. She is literally on fire, her face burning as brightly as her jewelled gown. She looks away from the camera lens, the very image of a shy girl in love. So they do have something going on between them, these two tributes from District Twelve. Certainly the revelation of Peeta's love for Katniss is staged, but I'm pretty sure their feelings are genuine. Much to my surprise, I find myself enjoying this episode of romance instead of finding it sappy. They're cute together.

The rest of Peeta's interview passes in a blur. I'm sure no-one was listening anyway, because they are all so caught up on this newest scandal about the Hunger Games. It's the first time a tribute has played the angle of a lover. Who would've thought it would be received so well? Usually love is associated with being soft-hearted and weak, and no tribute in his or her right mind would want to be described so. But the Hunger Games and the Capitol are full of surprises.

"Once again, I give you the twenty four tributes of this year's Hunger Games," yells Caesar as Peeta reaches his seat.

The whole row of tributes rises to our feet, joining the blond boy who has clearly stolen the show. With a cue from Caesar, we all incline our heads in a pretty bow. I curtsey, the flowing hem of my skirt sweeping like grounded clouds. And just like that, the interviews are over and the camera cuts away to another program somewhere else. Forming a single file, we walk offstage.


	23. Chapter 23: Just Remembering How We Were

**A/N: Two posts in one day, I am on a roll xD But starting tomorrow the posts will be reduced to two a week, since I am kinda screwed for my exams (Rue, why must you insist that your story is told NOW?). On a side note, a song that's been playing in my head while I was writing is Paradise by Coldplay. Very Rue-appropriate. "When she was just a girl, she expected the world, but it flew from her reach, so she ran in her sleep..."**

* * *

It takes a full ten minutes to get the white frock off me, and that's already with lots of help from Lavender. I shimmy into my cotton nightgown for the last time, savouring the soft feel of the fabric against my skin. From ten o'clock tomorrow morning, the only thing I'll be wearing for the foreseeable future is my arena outfit. Whatever that is. I haven't seen my arena clothes at all, because some old rule about the Hunger Games said that tributes are not allowed to see the arena outfits until an hour prior to the Games. I'm just hoping that it'll be something good. I can vaguely remember a Games from five or six years ago, where the tributes are given sheer outfits that were great underwater but useless on land. That year, the arena was three-quarters land.

"You did a good job with your interview," says Lavender as she hangs the white dress on a hook, "An angel, but an angel with an edge. I like that."

"Thanks," I say gratefully, "I'm hoping the rest of Panem likes it too. Although I'll be lucky if they remember my name. Katniss and Peeta kind of stole the show."

"Hmmm," says Lavender, not wanting to agree with me, "You did well, nevertheless. Do as well in the arena, and you'll steal the show right back."

"I don't think I stand a chance of doing well, let alone stealing the show back," I tell her, "Plus, I don't intend to kill anyone, and the sponsors only like bloodthirsty tributes."

"Then you clearly underestimate the power of Chaff and Seeder," Lavender says, "They've been able to get at least a sponsor each to every tribute that they've mentored, even when the tributes have absolutely no hope. You have more than enough hope, and with Aqua also working for you, it should turn out okay."

"If you say so, Lavender," I reply, not really believing her.

"Well, good night Rue," she says as she folds my snowy dress over her arm, "I'll see you at a quarter to nine tomorrow."

"Night, Lavender," I tell her receding back.

As the door clicks shut, I am officially alone in the suites with Thresh. Chaff and Seeder are not back yet. They're already at work to gain us sponsors, taking the advantage of the interviews still being fresh in people's minds. Cardamon has said that they'll return some time closer to midnight. Putting on my slippers, I walk out of my room and tiptoe to Thresh's door.

"Rue?" he asks in response to my knocks.

"Mind if I come in?" I say, hoping very much that he'll say yes.

The door opens mere seconds later, and I slip through the crack to face Thresh. He's wearing a navy blue dressing gown over his pyjamas, the robe wrapped so tightly around him even though today's quite warm. He points me to a comfy couch across the room, and follows me after he shuts the door. I plonk down on the soft sofa, tucking my feet beneath me. Instead of sitting beside me, Thresh positions himself on the ground, his back leaning against the cushions of the couch's seat.

"I screwed up today," I tell him, "And I don't even want to think about tomorrow."

"You haven't screwed up your interview as badly as me," he says, "Who would've known the whole love thing... Damn District Twelve and their luck and tactics!"

"They are the ones to watch out for, aren't they?" I ask, not expecting an answer, "Thresh, I..."

"Hmm?"

"I'm... I'm not ready for this," I confess, my voice small.

"I don't think it's possible to ever be ready," he says, "Maybe we can pull off the survival part of the Games, but the killings..."

"They're such nice people," I tell him, "I don't know them all individually, but I'm sure they're nice. Even the warrior pairs from Districts One and Two must have some nice parts to them. God, I don't think..."

"Let's not think about the Games anymore," says Thresh, cutting in, "God knows that's all we'll be thinking about from tomorrow on. Let's spend our last night talking about something happier."

"Happier," I echo, nodding, "Tell me a story of you and your sister? You've said you would ages ago, but we never got around to it."

"Alright, but you tell the next story. My Hazel, she's only a year older than you. And a whole four years younger than me. Four years and a third, to be exact. When we were smaller, we used to play pretend a lot. At night, after dinner and before bed, she used to beg me to play 'Knights and Princesses' with her. She made up the game when she was five, collecting bits and pieces from everywhere to play with. She was the Princess, and I was the Knight. I was supposed to same her from every situation, snatching her away from a pretend dragon or saving her from a kidnapper. She had this little crown that she used to wear, a special thing made of wires and wooden beads. I had a sword fashioned out of branches, and a tea towel for a cape."

"My brother Fern loves knights too," I add in, smiling a little at the thought of my only brother, "Although he likes to be the one doing the saving. Ma told us the story of St George a few weeks back, and Fern was obsessed with the idea of slaying dragons. He probably still is obsessed now."

"I've seen your brother around. He's a cute little thing," says Thresh, "Well, Hazel got sick of being the damsel in distress and wanted to save someone too. So she had this crazy idea about us swapping roles. Except that she wouldn't let me be a prince. _'You HAVE to be the princess," _she said, _"It's called 'Knights and Princesses' for a reason." _So I had to be a princess because I didn't want her to pout and be angry at me for the rest of the week. She has always been one to hold a grudge, even when she was only six."

"You dressed up in the princess costume too?" I ask him, not quite able to picture this solemn boy beside me as a princess.

"Thank God it wasn't much, just the crown and a length of faded shawl for a skirt. We were inside, thank goodness, because even as a kid of ten I didn't want anyone to see me in this getup. It was pretty embarrassing then, but now... now it's another funny and happy moment to get me by. Hey, don't laugh! I know what you're picturing in your head! It wasn't as bad as that, I swear!"

I bring up a hand to stifle the giggles that are bursting from me. He's right, the image of Thresh dressed up by his sister as a princess is a pretty funny one. I laugh out loud as he nudges me knee, his eyes telling me to shut up.

"Whenever you're done making fun of me, Miss Rue, feel free to start your story," he says in mock-hurt, but I can tell that he's working hard to not laugh too.

"Right," I say, trying to stop laughing, "Story. Story. How about a story of me and Raven? He's my best friend."

"Whatever you want," he tells me.

"Well, we met when we were really little. His family got assigned the orchard plot next to ours, and we used to see each other every day at the Collection Centre. To get to his bit of the orchard, you'd have to walk through mine, and so we walked to work every day together after signing in at  
the Collection Centre. We didn't talk at first, because I was really shy. But then one day an overripe apple dropped down on my head as we walk along. It was really painful; I had tears in my eyes! And Raven, you know what he did? He laughed! I was so annoyed that I forgot my shyness, and told him that he was the meanest person I've ever met. He said sorry after that, but I can still remember that his eyes were laughing silently. Not the best way to find a best friend, but it works!"

"You two are really tight yeah?" asks Thresh, "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen either of you without the other."

"We _were _tight," I say, "Until this stupid Hunger Games. Now I won't be there to be his best friend anymore."

"No, if you care for someone enough, you'll always be there no matter what," Thresh tells me, "Hazel told me that the day we left. The goodbyes in that Justice Building were one of the worst moments of my life."

"Hmmmm," I nod in agreement, not trusting myself to speak about my own farewells without crying.

"She gave me her amulet, you know," he says, pulling a wooden talisman from in inside of his dressing gown, "Mother gave it to her when she turned seven, it's been a long-running tradition in our family. Father gave me his sickle when I turned seven too, but I can hardly take that into the Games."

"Is that your token then?"

"Yes," he replies, fingering the worn surface of the amulet with love, "Cardamon had it approved by the Gamemakers a couple of days earlier, so it's going into the Games with me. What about you?"

"Raven gave me an early birthday present," I tell Thresh, taking out my little rue flower, "He hadn't finished carving, since my birthday is still a while off, but it's the thought that counts. I forgot to ask Lavender for a cord though. Perhaps she'll have some at hand tomorrow."

Thresh says nothing. We sit in silence for a while, not the uncomfortable silence of the Training Centre but a companionable one. It's nice.

"Hey, Rue?" Thresh asks me after some time, breaking through the hazy cloud of sleep that's coming over me, "I think I have a cord for your flower."

"Hmmm?" I murmur, halfway between sleep and consciousness.

He turns around to face me, Hazel's amulet lying in his palm. Carefully he slides the round talisman off the cord, tucking it safely in his pocket. He proceeds to separate the intertwined cord into two smaller ones, twisting the ends so that they won't come loose. He threads one of the cords back through his amulet. My eyes widen as he slides the other cord through the little hole in Raven's flower.

"Oh Thresh, you don't have to," I say a little breathlessly.

Without a word, he reaches up to tie my little charm around my neck. The rue flower falls just below my collarbone. Suddenly tears are streaming from my eyes down my cheeks, and all I can taste is salty regret. Regret that we do not have more time together. Regret that our lives are drawing to an inevitable close. Regret. Regret. Regret.

"Don't cry," says Thresh, his own eyes brighter than usual.

I reach over to Thresh's shoulders. They are nearly level with mine, despite the fact that he is on the floor and I on the couch. He pats my hand as I cry into his shoulder, draining myself of all my tears. Beginning tomorrow, there will be no tears allowed. I will have to be the brave and clever girl, small but cunning and hard to catch. But today, just for today, I'm going to be exactly who I am. A terrified twelve-year-old not ready to face death.


	24. Chapter 24: Final Farewells

**A/N: Best feeling to be getting back to this story after a Maths test :) Anyhow, I am having a hard time keeping up with school, what with exams being so near, so posts will be drastically reduced in number :( On a side note, I am not sure if I have the details of the sending off of Rue right, I don't have the book with me at the moment, so if there's any mishaps please tell :)**

* * *

It's the worst feeling to be saying goodbye to Thresh. No, it's not that the goodbyes are horrible, it's the fact that the next time I see him again we will be pitched against each other. No longer big brother and little sister, we'll be reduced to tribute boy versus tribute girl. It's as if the Capitol expects us to erase all the moments we've shared, forget everything we know about each other and just kill blindly. Standing here next to him, just seconds away from being whisked off to our own chambers, I wish that time would freeze. I like being here. I like having someone looking out for me, instead of me having to always be that someone. I like being Thresh's little sister.

"Well, good luck Miss Rue," he tells me as Cardamon appears to take him away, "And thanks for everything, Seeder and Chaff."

My fingers are clamped around his. It's not as if I want to let go anyway, but under these circumstances I have to. But I can't uncurl my fingers. It's as though I am once again that terrified six-year-old, clinging to someone's hand as I watch my neighbour get shot by a Peacekeeper. With a sad smile, Thresh gently loosen my grip and takes his hand away. I am left with only emptiness to hold onto as he walks away. I wish that there could be a way for us both to return again. If only I can have Thresh's protectiveness as a cloak, not only for the Games but for beyond that too. But who am I to say that he will remain my big brother in the Hunger Games? It is survival of the fittest after all, and the Hunger Games tends to have a knack of turning even the kindest heart into stone. _No, of course he will still be my friend!_ screams my heart, _Thresh will never turn on me. He would never hurt me. _And just like that, my doubt disappears. But what scares me is that I've doubted him in the first place.

"I... Lavender is late... I shall go find her," says Aqua in a shaky voice as she watches Thresh's figure disappear behind black doors, "I wish you all the best of luck, Rue. And... and don't forget to stay... stay strong, dear."

Before I can say a word, she turns around and heads down the corridor. Her heels click against the floor, a steady rhythm that sounds like the countdown to something terrible. If I have a chance, I will tell her that she's a wonderful escort. That she's such a kind soul, and she's helped me a lot. But as it is, I don't think she'll come back and subside to a breakdown just so I can say thank you.

"Any minute now," says Seeder, one of the only two people left with me, "Oh, I can't believe that... Never mind, you just stay strong like Aqua said. Keep your head, and you'll be okay."

Saying goodbye to Chaff and Seeder proves to be much harder than I thought. Granted, I've only known them for the last few weeks, but with the absence of my friends and family they've become my whole world. In many ways Seeder is like Ma, from her gentle manners to her wise words, and so it's like I am reliving my farewells in the Justice Building all over again. Chaff is not his usual sarcastic self, rather a hulking presence whose breath smells faintly of alcohol. I can't help but feel a little annoyed at his drinking, but then again, in his shoes alcohol may just be the one way to escape.

"Remember what we said, Rue," says Seeder once again, "Don't even think about the Cornucopia. In those sixty seconds that you have, look around and find the area with the most trees. That'll be your saving grace. As soon as the gong sounds..."

"...I'll run straight for the forest," I finish, the lesson so well-drilled into me that I can probably repeat it in my sleep.

"You'll find supplies later," she continues anyway, "In the first day, there'll be quite a few picked off, even those who have managed to escape the Bloodbath. They're usually killed by Careers, the cocky tributes who won't bother to collect the dead's packs. You wait til the coast is clear, and then take those packs left behind. If there's any major issue, we will make sure that you have a sponsor for it."

"Yes, Seeder," I reply, although secretly the idea of scavenging off dead bodies makes me feel sick, "No Cornucopia, straight to the trees, hide, find stuff later."

"And don't forget to stay hopeful," adds Chaff, his voice a little hoarse, "And stay alive. That would probably help too."

"I'll try," I say to him. I don't like him like this, half-drunk and barely held together, but I can't forget the amazing man that he is when he's sober. It is to the memory of this kind and sober man who encouraged me to keep heart that I promise my return.

"You know you can do this, right?" says Seeder, "You've got more wits and more potential than most girls that I've mentored."

"And more of a lack of height and age," I tell her, then adding hastily as Seeder glares at me, "I'm positive, I swear! I'm, what was it again? I'm the smallest and the youngest, but also the hardest to catch."

"That's the spirit," says Seeder, "And don't you let anyone tell you otherwise. Ah, there's Lavender's trademark purple wig. I think this is it, my little bird."

"Thank you so much, Seeder," I tell her as she wraps her arms around me, my voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt, "For giving me everything I need."

"If only I can give you time," she says wistfully as she lets me go.

"And thank you Chaff," I say to the man beside me, "For you words of wisdom."

I don't know whether I should hug him or not. My instinct is telling me to go for it, but there's a little something holding me back. Chaff's eyes are sad as he looks at me.

"No hug for me, Miss Rue?" he says, then takes my hand like he did the first time I met him, "Well, go with all the luck in the world, little lady."

As he brings my hand to his lips, I snatch it back and fling both arms around him. As he straightens, his arms holding my waist, my feet lift off the ground a little. And, as suddenly as I decided to hug him, I let go. This is way too hard. I can't go.

"Are you ready, Rue?" asks Lavender as she approaches us, Aqua at her heels, "We have to go now."

"Yes," I say in reply, although I am nowhere near ready, "Let's go."

She puts her hand on my shoulder and steers me towards those intimidating black doors down the hallway. I don't dare to look back, because then I'll probably cry my heart out at the fact that I'm being taken away. From behind me, somebody sniffs. By the time I am at the doors, those sniffs have turned into broken sobs. The last thing I see before Lavender closes the doors is Aqua, her face streaked with tears. For the first time, I see that her skin is not the pale blue that it appears; rather it is a rosy peach. She has never seemed more human than at this very moment. Stylish and aloof Aqua is crying for me.

Lavender does not say much as we wait for the hovercraft to come. Thresh's has left ten minutes earlier, and mine is scheduled to come any minute now. Together we stare out into the great empty space in front of us, counting down the seconds until the hovercraft comes to take me away. At precisely ten to nine, the silvery walls in front of us parts, and a shiny hovercraft cruises in. Lavender stands up, and I copy her. Wordlessly she ushers me to the steps of the hovercraft, and climbs on behind me. As soon as we are inside, the door closes. Seconds later, we take off.

"There's food here, and drinks," says Lavender, pointing to a table full of Capitol delicacies, "They're all yours to have before the Games."

"Thanks, but I don't think I can keep a bite down," I tell her, walking around the limited space to the other side of the cosy room. The craft is flying so smoothly that it doesn't even feel like we're moving at all.

"If you want my advice, you should eat a good share of staple food," she tells me matter-of-factly, "It's hard to find food in the arena, but you don't want to be heavy and drowsy from eating too much."

I walk back towards the table and picks up a roll of bread, breaking it into pieces and chewing slowly. Lavender's right, of course, but thinking in this way about food makes it all seems very **_final. _**Like this is my last meal. Which it could very well be, if I am brutally honest with myself.

"If all should go to plan, we have a little less than an hour on this hovercraft," she fills me in as I break into another roll, "Enough time to eat, and to get the tracker device injected into you. Then as soon as we get to the arena, you'll be changed into your official outfit. And then..."

_And then the nightmare will begin._

An hour sounds like a long time, but when I am savouring each second not spent in the arena, the hour goes by in a blink of the eye. As we neared the arena, a blonde woman with a silver box comes in to inject the tracker into my arm. I guess it is painful, what with the needle being enormous and the tracker stretching the skin of my arm, but I am so numb that I hardly feel a thing. From this moment on, no matter where I run and what I do, it will be all in vain. The Capitol will find me regardless.

"Rue?" asks Lavender some moments later, "We've landed. We have to go know."

"Coming," I say absentmindedly, as though I am shouting a reply to my mother's summon.

"We're here, Rue," she says again, "We don't have much time left, so let's hurry."

"Yes, Lavender," I reply a little ruefully, sad that I am not answering Ma after all.

A series of steps appear at the door of the hovercraft as we come closer, and Lavender leads the way out into a dark underground area. Across from where the hovercraft is parked is a sleek silver door, with a shiny plaque stating "District Eleven Girl" positioned right in the middle of it. As she turns the handle of the door the hovercraft rises slowly and backs out of the parking area. I glimpse a snatch of green and sunshine before the door closes, locking us into a small chamber right beneath this year's arena.

"Right, let's see what we've got for you," says Lavender briskly as she cross over to the wardrobe, "Hmmm, the weave is quite dense, so expect something a little colder. Oh, and there's reflective material lining the jackets too! I have an inkling that the arena's going to be cold, but not cold enough so that there's ice and snow. Otherwise they wouldn't give you just this..."

"Or they might just make us all freeze to death," I say, coming over to inspect my outfit, "They'll be entertained enough as long as we all die some horrible death."

"No, they wouldn't," she reply shortly, "Let's get you into these clothes, and see whether any small adjustments must be made."

She bundles the pants, shirt and jacket in my hands, shooing me into a little sheltered corner to change. When I am done, Lavender gives me a close inspection, almost as close as the one she gave me before the chariot ride. With the heating of the room, I am feeling uncomfortably warm in my jacket. I stand still as Lavender circles me, fixing up a zipper here and straightening a fold there.

"So it is a necklace," she comments as her fingers tuck my rue flower under my shirt, "I was confused for a second when you gave me a pendant to get approved, and no cord to go with it. Did you make it?"

"Hmmm?" I mumble, having trouble to concentrate because my mind is everywhere but here, "Oh, the necklace. My friend Raven made the flower and the cord's from Thresh."

"It's nice," says Lavender simply, "Let's get you into some shoes now. They gave me boots, seems good enough for long treks in forests, and unlikely to be used in a watery arena. So I suspect quite mountainous or tree-lined landscape, not much water..."

She gives me a pair of serviceable leather boots, a pair that fits my feet perfectly. My eyebrows shoot up as she hands me not one but two pairs of socks.

"For later," she says, her voice almost a whisper, "Just in case it gets too cold."

I have a feeling that she's not meant to do this, and if the Capitol ever finds out she'll be a quite a lot of trouble. Not wanting to be the cause of it, I hand back one pair of those warm woollen socks.

"No, take it!" she says fiercely, pushing them back into my palms, "You'll need it later."

"But Lavender..." I begin.

"No buts," she says firmly, looking as though she's about to put them on my feet for me if I keep protesting.

"Thank you," I whisper back to her, taking the second pair of socks gratefully and sliding them over the first pair.

"It's nothing," she tells me, straightening from her crouch and moving away. As her head shifts from its original position, a bright glimmer catches my eye. In that split second I understand why she was bent over me, talking in such a hushed voice. We are being watched, even now.

"It's time," says Lavender as a little buzzer sounds, her face strained as she points towards a glass tube in the corner of the room, "I have two minutes to get you ready and inside that thing. I..."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I tell her, "Don't worry about me, you've done all you can for me."

"I...I could've...should've..."

"No really, thanks Lavender," I say, taking small steps towards the dreaded glass tube, "I guess it's all up to me now."

"Oh Rue, if only," she tells me as she comes closer, "If only..."

Her arms come around me, unexpected. They are lanky and awkward, loose around my shoulders instead of tightly wrapped like Ma's arms or Seeder's. For a brief second her heart is pressed to my back, and I can feel the wild rhythm of its beats in synchrony with the panic pumping of my own heart. My hand flies up to touch her wrist, telling her that I'm glad I've gotten to know her. As another buzzer sounds, she lets go of me and steps back.

"I'm sorry," she says as she walks over to a little touchpad near the glass tube. Her fingers shake as they punch in a code. The glass tube slides open in response, letting me see the metal plate clearly for the first time.

"Here goes," I say weakly as I step onto the round platform.

"I'll see you soon," says Lavender as the glass tube reseals itself, locking me away.

"Hopefully," I manage to say before I'm completely shut away.

She says something in return, but I can't hear it. The metal plate is rising now, slowly but surely. Lavender is repeating it over and over again, and I try my hardest to lip-read her message.

_Definitely, _she yells_, I'll definitely see you soon._

The sky overhead is much closer now, a wide arc of endless blue with a few wispy clouds floating by. I close my eyes as I emerge from the tunnel. After the soft and dreamy darkness of the underground prep room, the stark sunlight is blurring my vision. When I can feel the metal plate clicking into place, I slowly open each my eyes.

All I can see is gold. Glittering weapons inside the largest golden horn ever constructed. The Cornucopia stares back at me, its harsh glow inviting and repulsive at the same time. There's supplies scattered all around it, with better things closer to the centre. I know Seeder told me to run away as soon as possible, but the plump packs full of supplies are very tempting. I really shouldn't, but...

"60!"

The Games has begun.


	25. Chapter 25: Fight or Flight

**A/N: Sorry for the long gap between updates. Here's a little taste of the arena to make up for it, and hopefully I'll ba able to get back to writing the next bit soon. Bear with me please, exams are damn stupid. x**

* * *

I am in my element. No, scratch that. I am totally in my element, minus the whole Hunger Games and killing thing. Across from me, on the other side of the golden Cornucopia, stretches a lush green forest as far as the eye can see. Trees, countless numbers of trees rise from the mulch to intertwine overhead. Their strong branches call me invitingly, their rustling leaves fluttering in the breeze as though they are saying 'hello'. It could almost be home, back in the orchards of District Eleven staring out across the meadow into the unknown. It's perfect.

Except that I have to cross the Cornucopia to get there. All twenty four tributes are placed in a perfect ring around the golden horn, and I am directly across from the forest. There's no way to get there right away, not unless if I want to risk running straight through the Bloodbath.

"50!"

I spin around on my metal plate, pivoting slowly so that I won't lose my balance and fall off. It wouldn't do to get blasted into smithereens before the Games even starts, and I am not taking my chances with those landmines. As I thought, there is no forest behind me. Just an endless field of swaying stalks, some green and others golden like ripe wheat. The plants are of a sizeable height, but nowhere near tall enough to fully conceal a standing person, not even when the person is as small as me. Hiding's going to be tough in the wheat field.

"35!"

My eyes switch frantically from the field to the forest. I know where I want to be, but I also know the risks I'll have to take to get there. If only I am on the other side of the circle, standing exactly where Gwendolyn Hart is. Then it would only be a matter of sprinting a dozen or so metres to reach sanctuary. The wheat field it is. Perhaps I can detour later...

"20!"

But I need supplies. I can find food and water, but I still need a sleeping bag and water bottles to store my findings. Most of all, I need a pack so that I can carry my things around. The plump backpacks call to me again, their bulging sides luring me to the Cornucopia like sirens. No, I can't. I'm not strong enough to survive the Bloodbath, not even the fringes of it. But I need it.

"10!"

It's only three long strides to reach the bag. So about five seconds to grab it and whirl around again. Then I can head for the wheat field, and lie low until the Bloodbath is over. I bend my knees, my feet poised to spring off the platform as soon as the countdown is over. Three steps, and then back again. I can do this. I force myself to focus on the dark fabric of the pack, staring so hard that my eyes are about to water. Whatever I do, I cannot look at the other people around me. One sight of their faces and looming figures, and my plan will be as good as gone.

"3!'

Three steps forward.

"2!"

Three steps back.

"1!"

And whatever happens, don't look back.

"0!"

In a blink of an eye, the motionless circle of tributes is replaced by a squabbling chaotic mess. I leap off my platform, my legs pumping hard as I run for the dark blue bag. Three steps is all it takes, and I stoop to pick up my supplies while all hell breaks loose around me. The sound of metal against metal sends sharp stabs to my head, and the wordless screams of dying tributes spears my heart. From somewhere to my right, a girl is begging for mercy. A spray of warm liquid ends her whimpering pleas, and as I look down to my hand it is splotched in red. Her blood, so much blood, has drenched my right side, the faint metallic smell of it making me sick. I tighten my grip on the backpack. I need to get out of here.

The blue bag jerks in the opposite direction as I try to swing it onto my shoulder. I yank it back as hard as I can, desperate to get away. Clearly the other person has the same idea too, because the reply to my tug is a pull so strong it spins me around with the backpack. My fingers still clamped around the bag strap, I look up and meet the gaze of my opponent. Dark hair, green eyes. Midnight black hair that's matted to her forehead with sweat and eyes with pupil dilated so wide they almost look black. She looks half mad with fright, and I think I look the same to her. It is because of the fear swimming in her eyes that I decide to take one last-ditched attempt to get the backpack. I spin around suddenly, my arm wrapped around the middle of the bag. The girl lets the pack slips as she is caught by surprise, but I do not get very far before she starts pulling on it again. Biting my lips, I let go of the bag. I have to get out of here now, backpack or no. And seeing as luck is not on my side, then so be it.

"Rue!" yells a voice from behind me, so familiar and so desperate. I risk one little look back.

It's Thresh, his eyes wild and his left arm bleeding from a cut. He has my backpack in his hand, the green-eyed girl scrambling for her breath at his feet. He flings the bag in the air the moment he sees me looking around, and on instinct I reach out my arms to catch it. He's already running out as the bag flies through the air, another pack strung on his shoulders, his legs pumping faster than lightning. I leap up to catch the pack, groaning in dismay as a bevy of supplies tumbles out. There is no time to salvage anything. I spare one last regretful look at the bundle of food before running after Thresh, holding the backpack upside down. I'll have to fix the rip later. I just can't afford to lose any more supply right now.

It seems like the only sound in the arena is screaming. Battle cries of murderous tributes fill my ears as I jump into the wheat field, punctuated by the soul-ripping yells of others as they take their last breath. My boots plough through the field with desperation, trampling on the broken stalks left behind by Thresh's feet. The wheat and grass are taller than I anticipated, their swaying tips brushing my shoulders as I run along. The blades of the plants slice into my forearms as I push through them, leaving behind crisscrossing scars. But no matter how hard I run, my heart is still racing at a million miles an hour, pumping so hard that it's threatening to explode any moment. No matter how hard I run, I can still hear the screams of the dead and the dying, along with the heartless cries of the soulless. No matter how hard I run, I am still in the Hunger Games.

At last the field comes to an end, the rippling ocean of wheat narrowing down as it touches the base of a rocky foundation. The hill rises steeply, almost as if it is a cliff and the swaying wheat is the sea lapping its foot. Here and there are little indents in the rock, bigger than holes but not big enough to be called caves. Thresh is at one of these small hollows, crouching to stash his backpack into a corner of the crevice. I walk over to him, my feet light on the soft earth. He only turns around when he hears the sound of my bag hitting the ground. My eyes widen as I take in the large rock in his hand and the guarded look in his eyes.

"Oh, it's you," he says, lowering his arm, "You got out alright?"

"Yeah," I reply slowly, still a little shocked at Thresh's instant reaction to my presence, "Only a couple of scratches. Your arm doesn't look so good though."

"The girl from Four tried to take me down," he says grimly, "She's not the best with a knife, thank God. I knocked her out, didn't kill her but maybe I should've. Would've probably been better than the other kinds of death waiting for her in the Bloodbath. I got her pack though."

"The cut looks pretty deep," I say, not wanting to comment on his ordeal at the Cornucopia, "I'll go find some plants to bind it up. You shouldn't be losing blood so early in."

"It would only end this nightmare quicker though," he says, yanking hard on the zipper of his bag to open it, "Besides, you'll be one step closer to home if I go."

"No, don't say that!" I say a little too loudly. Taking a deep breath, I lower my voice, "You tell me to be optimistic, and you're as hopeful as Moping Myrtle. I'll go find those plants now."

"If only people have such integrity and hope as you do," says Thresh as I stand up, "Want me to unpack your bag too while you're away?"

"Thanks for offering, and thanks for the bag," I tell him as I inch along on the cliff's foot, looking for some familiar mosses, "But there's not much in there."

"I'm so sorry," he says as he eyes the gaping hole in the bottom of my pack, "I must've ripped..."

"No, I ripped it when I ran away from the Cornucopia," I cut in, not wanting to make Thresh feel bad about anything else, "Doesn't matter, I only need a bag, that's all. I can manage the food and water."

"We'll share mine, once I get this damn thing to open," he tells me, "It should be good. God knows it is heavy enough to carry."

I return to scrutinising the rocky edges, running my fingers over the damp moss and climbers that managed to dig their roots into the jagged cliff. They are refreshingly cool, their leaves soothing my hot fingertips like a lovely dose of iced water. All the blood in my body has rushed to my limbs during my flight from the Bloodbath, and the heat they bring makes me feel like I am burning. I yank a familiar-looking moss out from the rocky walls, prodding the green handful with a finger. It feels alright, and it smells like the regular moss we get back home. It won't heal Thresh's wound, but at least it'll staunch the blood flow. It'll have to do for now.

"Give me your arm," I command, returning to his side with fistfuls of the moss and a winding vine over my arm.

He does so obediently, holding it stock still as I place the moss over the wound. I watch his face as I wrap the vine around the staunching moss, ready to stop as soon as he shows signs of feeling too much pain. But his eyes are dazed with something akin to disappointment. He doesn't even realise that I'm finished until I tell him so rather loudly.

"Thanks," he mutters, lowering his injured arm.

"What's with you?" I ask, my concern overriding my politeness.

"Huh? Oh, it's just my pack," he tells me, pointing over to the full pack lying abandoned on its side, only a few metres away from us.

"Don't tell me it's ripped as well," I say, standing up to look at the bag properly.

My heart sinks as I realise what he means. Thresh's full pack is indeed filled to the brim and heavy. But not with the supplies that we both hoped for. Spilling out from the open zipper are rocks, smooth and rough, large and small, rocks of all sizes and shapes. I pick up the straps at the bottom of the pack and shake it, praying that something useful will tumble out. Stone after stone falls at my feet, until I am surrounded by a small hill with an empty backpack in my hand. Between my ripped bag and Thresh's empty one, the Capitol sure has District Eleven struggling mere hours into the Games.


	26. Chapter 26: Survival

**A/N: Here's a massively long chapter before I go into hibernation for the next two weeks :) Hopefully this is what you've hoped for, and adieu until my exams are done :)**

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The sun crawls at a painfully slow pace across the sky, inching along as we hold our breaths in our own hollows. Thresh has taken his pack, complete with all its rocks, back into the little crevice that he has chosen as a hiding place. I am a few feet away, tucked inside my own rocky sanctuary. The shadows conceal me in here, draping me in a cloak of darkness and blending me in with the stones around me. They're part of our hopes for survival, these shadows. Neither of us is speaking out loud, but I know both Thresh and I are praying that none of the others will come to this corner of the arena. Especially none of those blood-thirsty Careers.

The rippling wheat is undisturbed, but we are on our guards all the same. The Bloodbath must've been well on its way by now, but then again, every single minute lying in wait feels like an eternity to me. I'm waiting to hear those booming cannons that will signify the end of the first massacre, the violent chorus that will tell us Careers are on the loose. It's eerily silent, save for the occasional clatter of stone against stone from Thresh's hollow. I still don't know why he wants to keep them, there'll be more than enough rocks from these cliffs should he ever need them. But Thresh is convinced that he'll be able to make some use of the Gamemakers' joke. _It'll be like having the last laugh, _he has said, _Show them that we're more than just pawns in their Games, our survival solely dependent on their whims._ I don't know how far he'll get, but kudos to him for trying to prove what every single tribute wants proven.

Then again, perhaps it is smart to keep my hands busy like Thresh. My fingers are jittering so badly, and I have multiple nail marks all over from wringing my hands every few seconds. I just want this whole thing to pass. At the very least, I want to find some trees. Out here in the wheat field with its low cover, I feel very exposed and out of my element. Maybe tonight, when it's dark and others are sleeping, I can take my detour to that lush forest on the other side of the Cornucopia. But if I do, chances are I'll have to part ways with Thresh. He's in his comfort zone here, with plenty of wheat and enough stones to defend himself. No, I can't. I can't leave Thresh. I can't decide. I can't do this.

Suddenly it feels as though all the air has been sucked out of my little cave. So many decisions to make, each one surely ending in some form of regret or another, and the sheer weight of these decisions are suffocating me. I unfold my legs and wriggle out of the hollow, careful to keep my head down. Placing an ear on the ground, I listen for the tell-tale signs of someone coming. Silence. Lifting my face slightly, I pull myself into a crouching position. _Just need some air, _I mouth to Thresh as he peers out from his little cave. He nods and retreat his head, but I can feel his gaze on my back as I move around. My shoulders relax a little from their tense hold. Nothing can happen if Thresh is looking out for me.

The stony edges snag on my jacket as I slide down into a sitting position a little way off, my head pillowed by a wild tumble of moss and climbers. Out here, sitting beneath the sky, I feel freer. The air is sweet on my lips, smelling faintly like the honeysuckles we have back home. I gulp in gallons of the stuff, desperate for it to cleanse my mind and make my decisions easier. Perhaps... Perhaps the wheat field wouldn't be such a bad hiding place after all. It's plentiful of food, and once the cannons fire I'm sure we'll manage to find some water too. Really, that's all that's needed for survival. That and a large portion of luck.

The sounds of the cannons jerk me out of my reverie, leaving me scrambling to get back to my hollow. I scrape my arm in the process, breaking the skin on the underside of my wrist and scratching my jacket's sleeve. Yanking off some moss to soak up the blood, I duck into the tiny crevice. One. Two. Three. The cannons continue to fire, a thudding in the sky as regular as a heartbeat. Six. Seven. Eight. My heart is swelling painfully inside my chest, whether from fright or from grief I do not know. It seems like the cannons will sound forever. Nine. Ten. And then utter silence. Ten tributes gone in the Bloodbath. Only fourteen left now, fourteen children left to fight for their own survival. Instead of feeling glad that I am that much closer to getting home, I find myself crying hard. Out of the twenty three others, I only know two of them intimately. One is sitting right next to me now, separated by only a hand span of rock. The other's fate I have no idea of. Felix, please tell me you're still alive. Please.

I shove my arm into my mouth as the sobs become uncontrollable. There cannot be any sound, not if we are to stay safely hidden. But the thoughts of Felix bring everything back to me. I'm ashamed to say I have forgotten about him in those hectic moments, but now all I can see is his face. Those chocolate curls and eyes so blue, eyes like none I've seen before. And I can hear his promise, or rather his hope, that we will remain friends and allies in the arena. Please God, if you are really out there, please let him survive. And let Thresh and I survive also.

The field is unnaturally still as I survey it through watery eyes. It's rather strange that no one else is venturing in here, especially because there's an abundant source of food from the wheat. But I must not let my guard down. Wiping my eyes with the hem of my jacket, I straighten my back and stare out across the field, my eyes scanning for even the smallest movement. No more crying for fellow tributes. I just cannot afford to feel so much. _They're not people, _I tell myself, _Just another obstacle on your way home. So be glad that they're cleared for you._ But it's hopeless. I cannot think like that either. It's against everything that I've been brought up with. Then again, the Hunger Games is against everything that people value.

As the shadows of the wheat stalks lengthen, I allow myself to relax more. Thresh has resumed his work with the rocks, assured that there are no others in the wheat field. I've found work with my bag, gathering a handful of a particular green climber and using its sap to mend the gap. It's messy business, breaking the stem and pulling them apart to reveal the sticky threads that will hold the ripped edges together. But I do manage, and although it's not exactly great, it should be able to bear the weight of my water skins without breaking. Those are the only things left in my empty pack, two crude water skins lying pathetically empty at the bottom of the bag. Useless without the precious liquid that it's made to carry. Thinking of water makes my throat cry out for a drink. The glass of orange juice I had on the hovercraft seems like a lifetime ago.

"Thresh," I whisper, sticking my head out of my hollow.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his golden eyes luminous from the depth of his own cavern.

"Nothing," I reply, "I was just thinking that we should probably search around for some water. No one's going to come now, are they? It's been a good couple of hours."

"No one's here, as far as I can tell," he says to me, crawling out of his hollow on hands and knees, "Water's a good idea. Let me pack my bag though, just in case something goes awry on the way."

"And I'll take mine," I nod, pulling my newly-mended bag out into the sunshine, feeling rather proud of my handy work, "I fixed it just before, it's all good now. Here, take a canteen, I have two."

I press the water skin into his hands and look away, not wanting to fuel his hesitation. He doesn't resist, merely mumbling 'thank you' to me as he tucks it in his empty pack. In return, he slips a shard of rock into my palm. The jagged edges press into the flesh of my fingers as I curl them around it.

"It's not the best, but just in case," he says simply, taking up several other sharp rocks as potential weapons, "If I have time later, I'll fix them up for you."

"Thanks," I tell him as I follow his steps, crouching down low as I walk the boundary of the cliff face.

We're heading towards the north, tracing our way along the rocky hill. As we move along, the field of wheat thins, giving way to low-lying shrubs and wild grass as tall as my shoulders. My ears are still pricked, ready to fly at the smallest sound, but the only things I can hear are Thresh's steady footfall before me and the soft scurry of animals. Occasionally a rabbit would cross our path, or a bird would caw overhead, but that's it. After a good twenty minutes, or what feels like twenty minutes anyway, we see the first sight of water. It's only a small trickle, a tiny damp track running between some shrubs, but it's water. Thresh leads the way up along the little creek, and we hike upstream until the creek deepens enough for the water to be clear. His face wears a blissful smile as he dips his fingers into the running water.

"You reckon we can drink this straight?" I ask, my hand cupping the cool liquid.

"I don't know," he answers, "Didn't the tributes put some kind of purifier into their water? I think it's iodine, or some other chemical that will make it safe."

"We don't have any though," I say, letting the water splash back into the stream.

"Let's check our bags one last time to see if we missed it," Thresh tells me, "Search through all of those other pockets. It's bound to be here somewhere; I don't think the Capitol would let us go over something like water. The Games wouldn't be any fun then."

I rip open every single zipper on my bag and rummage through, hoping very much for the feel of the cool round bottle that contains iodine. Rough material meets my touch, nothing but fabric and threads.

"Yes!" says Thresh triumphantly as he holds up a small bottle in his hand, clearly having more success than me, "I knew it. They need us to last much longer to be their playthings. Now, let's purify some water. I think we have to leave it for a while before drinking..."

I fill up both of our water skins from the stream, passing them one by one to Thresh to be purified. His hand shakes a little as he squeezes the iodine into the canteen, returning the treated water back to me so that I can screw the cap back on. We can't drink it just yet. Neither of us knows how long we should leave it for, so we give it a good fifteen minutes just to be safe. Thresh is trying to fashion other vessels out of the leaves of the nearby trees, twisting them this way and that and securing them with the tough stems of the grasses. I will help him later, just not now. I have to get rid of something first.

With a broad leaf taken from one of the bordering trees, I step down to the stream and scoop up some water. Moving away, I tip the liquid over my right arm. The crust of blood softens and slides off. I make the journey with the leaf again and again, washing and scrubbing and cleaning until my arm no longer bears the blood of that other tribute. The sleeve of my jacket is drenched, but at least I am not walking around covered in the lifeblood of a murdered girl. I'm only satisfied when the metallic stench of blood no longer follows my every step. Wringing out the sleeve of my jacket, I sit down next to Thresh.

"These are no good," he tells me, "I can't shape them so that they'll be able to hold enough water. I guess we'll have to take our share now, and come back later for more."

"It should be alright," I say, "We'll only use it for drinking anyway."

"Perhaps also for making food," he replies, "I was thinking of using the wheat as a food source. I know more than enough about wheat anyway. That's the one good thing about coming from District Eleven."

"I never thought of that before," I say wonderingly, "It's a great idea! I reckon if we drink our fill of water now, we can take the canteens back to make the dough."

"Yes," he agrees, "Yes, that's what we'll do."

We both scull down our water, refilling the water skins and taking another swig out of them before taking them back to our hollows. The trip back feels nowhere as long as the trip there, and I begin to doubt my sense of time. Thresh settles the full canteens inside a crevice along with our bags, and beckons for me to come with him into the field. In a hushed tone, he points out all the edible wheats to me, giving me a crash course in wheat picking. We need the grains for tonight, and four hands are better than two. The sun is slowly sinking now, but its rays are still beating down on our backs. We saw at the stalks with our jagged rocks, wanting the job to be over and done with as soon as possible. We're vulnerable here in the shoulder-height wheat, not to mention the heat from the sun is making my head spin a little. I'm used to the shades of trees, not the exposed field of rolling grain.

"That's probably enough," says Thresh as he takes up my bundle of wheat, "We'll see what we can do later; this sun will be the death of us if we don't get out soon."

"Hmm," I say, glad that we'll be getting back to the cool hollows soon, "Later."

He tells me to rest a little as we reach the rocky cliff, pressing the canteen into my hand. I don't want to take it, not when we need it for food later, but he insists. In the end, we both agree to take a gulp each. When my head stops spinning, I take my place beside Thresh to learn the art of grinding wheat. He has already made a small mound of coarse flour, and with his guidance I add my share to it. My fingers are raw by the time we finish, from pressing down hard on the rough stones we use as grinders. But the pile of flour is all worth it.

"Shame we have no seasoning," comments Thresh as he pours water into the well of flour, "It'll be filling, but it'll be pretty bland."

"It'll be food," I say, "Not Capitol standard, but we'll survive. I could go find some herb though. Then at least it'll smell good."

"Ah, look at us," chuckles Thresh, "Sitting here in the Hunger Games talking about how we want seasoned food. But those herbs sound good, if you can be bothered finding them."

He resumes his work with the dough, kneading it out onto a broad leaf that he's using as a board. I stand up and trace my way around the cliff face towards the stream, finding the herbs I want on the fringe where the wheat field meets the low-lying bushes. Rubbing the leaves against my sleeve, I tear them up roughly and add them to the lump of dough that Thresh has made. At home, we always add some kind of herb or other to our breads. It's our way of cutting through the bland taste of the ration loaves, making the heavy dough more edible. The leaves add a little pattern to our unbaked bread, neat green splotches flowering on the six little loaves.

"You're good at fires, aren't you?" Thresh asks, his hand already busy picking up small twigs and things, "I'm pretty hopeless with them."

"I can manage them," I tell him, "But what about the smoke? We can't reveal where we are just like that!"

"No, we can't," he agrees, "So I was thinking using one of those hollows a little way off from where our bags are. There're enough rocks here to cover the mouth of the hollow..."

"... and we can light a fire inside," I finish, "It'll be just like an oven! Thresh, have I ever told you how clever you are?"

"No, but you have now," he says, laughing a little, "Go start up the oven, Miss Rue. I'll be fixing the stone knives here, if anything happens just whistle and I'll be there."

I take the bundle of twigs and carefully set them up inside one of the other crevices, remembering distinctly what that woman at the Training Centre had told me about fires. It was only days ago, yet it feels like a lifetime has passed in between. I am in the Hunger Games and have survived the Bloodbath, another girl out of the fourteen remaining tributes. But me and Thresh, we have means to survive. He comes over to help me set the rocks around the mouth of the cave some moments later, leaving a gap at the top for me to light the twigs. With two flint stones, I strike up a little spark and set the twigs on fire. The flame is small at first, dwindling then disappearing. Not before it manages to scorch my sleeve a little though. The slightly melted plastic of my jacket gives me a great idea. I abandon the fire temporarily to retrieve my bag. Squatting down again, I strike the flints together again and again, adding a shower of sparks over the tower of sticks. An orange flame flickers and grows. Quickly I take the bottom of my bag and run the ripped edges along the flame. The molten plastic smells horrible, but I grit my teeth and use my fingers to press the rip together. It seals the gap, leaving an ugly scar, but the scar hardly matters. My bag is fully functional again. Setting the pack aside, I place the six misshapen loaves over a flat stone near the fire. With deft fingers I pile up the remaining rocks over the mouth of the cave, leaving only a small hole to let air in. Pa had told me once that without air, no fire can burn. I'm not about to test his words now, not when it took me so long to light it.

Thresh is making considerable noise with those rocks of his, but no one comes our way. I guess they are all intimidated by him, especially because it does sound like he's repeated crushing someone against the cliff. He's managed to refine the knives, sharpening the three blades that he had made earlier. Using a pointed rock to wedge in between the gap of another, he drives down with enough force to split the second rock. He takes the sharp broken edges to grind against the jagged blade of his knives, sharpening the sides to a lethal sliver. Admittedly it's nowhere near as good as the steel knives from the Training Centre, but with a thick twig fastened to one end with vines, it's as good as we can get.

"Here, you take this one," he says as he slip the last finished knife into my palm, "Watch the bread; I've got to go back to the stream. I'll fill our canteens up when I'm there."

"What for?" I ask, not really wanting to be alone.

"I have another idea," he tells me simply, "You'll see when it works. _If _it works."

He leaves me at that, picking up our empty water skins and heading north towards the stream. I sit cross-legged on the ground in front of the oven, waiting for the smell of cooked bread to waft out. Time passes by slowly, and I develop a massive urge to stand up and move. Pulling myself up, I walk cautiously around, venturing partway in the direction of the creek. Five minutes away from where the oven is, I discover a clump of blackberry bushes. The juicy berry bursts into an explosion of sweetness in my mouth, and I gather up as much as I can carry. My shirt becomes a makeshift basket, sagging under the amount of berries I've found. The breads are a bit burnt by the time I get back, but they're still edible. I take them out quickly and replace the rocks back over the mouth, struggling a little to use two sticks as tongs. Bread and berries for dinner. This is much better than what I have hoped for.

Thresh does not tell me off for burning his bread. He returns with not only two full canteens but with an armful of what looks like tree bark. He tells me that he has stripped them from the trees lining the stream as he press each sheath of bark against the hot stone of the oven, heating them then drying them to a crisp. It's not until he places each of these strips of bark in a wide arc around our hollows that I finally get his idea. The crunch these barks will make when snapped makes them the perfect alarm.

We break our bread early tonight, eating our dinner of berries and wheat rolls as the sun slides down the west. A roll each and a handful of berries, that's all we allow ourselves. Even though the meal is meagre, and even though it has nothing on those elaborate dinners that we've gotten used to in the Capitol, our heavy loaves and fresh berries still taste surprisingly good. Our bags are already tucked away in our own hollows, along with the rest of the food. By the time the sun goes down, we'll be ready and hiding in our rocky crevices. The thought of spending the first night in the arena makes my stomach churn, but at the same time I cannot wait for night to fall and for the killing Games to be stopped momentarily. Popping the last couple of berries into my mouth, I turn to Thresh to say something. But the words die on my lips.

"What was that?" he whispers, frozen in mid-motion as I am.

"I don't know," I tell him truthfully.

"Someone's here," he says, putting into words my suspicion and my greatest fear, "In the wheat. I can't see them."

Neither can I. The sun is right on the edge of the horizon now, blinding us with its brightness as we look out into the wheat field. I can see vague silhouettes of stalks and that's about it. Slowly, we both stand up. There it is again, that rustling noise. Step by tiny step we back away until the cliff is pressing against our spines. Thresh's hands are gripping the wooden handles of his handmade knives, their tips pointing outwards. I slide out my own from my belt.

"They're moving," Thresh whispers, his blades following the general direction of the rustling.

With the sun in his eye, he cannot pinpoint the source of the noise. I stand motionless, trying hard to determine the exact location of our intruder. There. The rustling. My eyes focus to a spot a little to the left of us, searching for movement through the shadows of the wheat. I can see the tips of the stalks bending and springing back as something or someone makes their way through the field. A rounded silhouette bobs up for a split second, the outline of someone's head. Whose, I have no idea. As the head bobs up a second time, I touch Thresh's arm. I can feel his muscles tense as he too sees the silhouette I am pointing at. Suddenly there is a crunch. Someone has stepped over the boundary Thresh laid out earlier. Before I can register what's happening, the two knives leave Thresh's hands and fly through the air.

"Rue, don't..." says the silhouette in those spilt seconds before the knives find their target.

The sickening sound of a blade entering someone's flesh is followed by a blood-curdling scream. The sun slides further down the horizon as the figure falls, the sky dyed scarlet. All my blood rushes out from my feet as realisation clicks.

I know that voice.


	27. Chapter 27: Rue The Day

**A/N: Sorry for the long hiatus guys! But I am back from my epic exam-slaying, so updates will be much more frequent. Thank you for sticking with me and reading and reviewing every single chapter. You guys are the best readers a budding writer could ever hope to have 3 Also, this scene was a very hard one to write, so if there are any mistakes please point them out.**

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His voice pulls me like a magnet, the desperate calls for help amidst the pained cries. The knife in my hand drops to the ground with a clatter as I rush forwards, diving blindly into the wheat field. The sunset paints the field a deep scarlet, and the air feels a hundred degrees hotter. It makes me feel like I am wading through blood to be beside him. Wading through his blood, the blood I've helped to spill.

"Rue!" says another voice as a pair of strong arms come around me, pinning me tight, "Don't move. This may be a trap."

I struggle in Thresh's arms, pushing and turning and clawing at his grip. I want to scream at him to let me go, to not be so heartless and careful about it all. But mostly I want to scream at him for hurting Felix. Yet all the words are stuck in my throat, a bubble clogging up my insides and making me want to explode. _Let me go, damn it!_

"Rue, stay still," he continues to tell me, his commands punctuated by Felix's yells, "There might be others with him. I wouldn't put it above them to set this up as a trap."

Hearing the pain in Felix's voice is tearing up my insides. Flashbacks to the last day of training fill my mind, and it's making me crazy with hurt and with guilt. _Promise me? _he had said, and I had curled my pinkie around his in a silent oath of friendship and comradeship. And now, he is lying out there in the field, probably dying because of me and Thresh. He's dying because of me.

"Damn it, Rue!" Thresh tells me, tightening his hold as I begin to thrash around, "We have to stay alive, remember? You can't cry for every tribute that falls out there!"

It's not just any tribute. It's Felix out there. And from the quietening of his cries, he's slipping by fast. I pull my leg up and lash out hard, kicking Thresh with as much force as I can muster. His grip slackens for a moment as he reels back in pain. I leap out from his arms and sprint into the swaying wheat. _Felix, I am so sorry. Please, please be okay._

There's a circle of flattened stalks where Felix has fallen. He's curled up like a caterpillar, one hand holding a bloodied stone blade and the other over his chest. One of Thresh's knives has opened a shallow wound on Felix's arm, but that's not where my eyes are drawn to. Beneath his right hand, bright red blood oozes out from gaping flesh. He's whimpering, his dark hair matted to his forehead. I can hear his jagged breathing from here, the raspy sounds of a dying child. Kneeling at his side, I try desperately to hold the pieces of his life together, if only for a while longer. My fingers pinch at the gash on his chest, trying and failing to stop the bleeding.

"Rue? I..." he says, his words faint and jumbled. His hand flutters up to touch mine, with fingers already as cold as ice.

I press down on the wound harder, mentally willing the blood to stop flowing. So much already, a sea of scarlet. It wells out from the cracks between my fingers, thick and warm unlike the clammy skin of the boy beneath me. I clamp my other hand over the top of my fingers, pushing and pressing and praying. It has to stop now. _God, if you are up there, please let it stop now._

Felix's thumb brushes the back of my hand lightly. I turn to meet his eyes for the first time since the Games started. They are mere slits, the twinkling sky-blue now a burning electric colour. I can't bear it. I can't look at that endless pain in his eyes. Pain that I have caused, even if indirectly. As if guessing my thoughts, he closes his eyes. Instinctively I clutch harder onto him. His head rolls onto one side.

I fight to push down the sob that's rising in my chest. _No. This is not happening. It can't happen._

Slowly, as if he is mustering all the strength in him to do it, he moves his head to the other side.

"Don't you shake your head at me," I tell him, my voice garbled with tears, "I'm not going to let you go like this. Come on, Felix. Breathe, damn it!"

He shakes his head again, heavily. His hand has dropped back to the ground, limp and lifeless. Taking one hand off Felix's wound, I shake his shoulders violently. Anything to get him to respond to me.

"Come on Felix. Please," I beg, crying freely now, "You promised me to try and survive, remember? Please, Felix. We're allies, remember? Friends. Don't leave me now."

I am dimly aware of Thresh standing a few feet away from us, silent. He can go to hell right this moment, for all I care. This bloody gash is because of him, and this dying boy. His fault and mine combined. We should both be going to hell. Felix's breathing is shallower now; I can barely feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my palms. _No, you can't go. I'm not going to let you go._

What do I do? My mind scrambles back to those snatched moments watching the healers handle emergency cases back at home, when they dragged people back from the realm of the dying. Breathe. Stop the blood flow and help him breathe. I don't even know if this is right, or if it's actually going to help at all. But it's the only thing I can remember, and it'll have to do for now. I inhale and bend my head, pausing for a moment before placing my mouth over his.

_Breathe, please, just breathe._

He's bleeding too much, and not breathing enough. I don't think I'm doing it right. Am I even meant to be doing this? People didn't bleed this much back at home. Ducking back up to fill my lungs with air, I bow my head and try it again. In for five counts. Or is it six? I don't know. I don't know anything.

"Let him go, Rue," Thresh tells me, his deep voice pulling me out of hysteria and into anger.

"Don't you tell me what to do," I yell at him, glaring, "Go away Thresh. Another one down, I hope you're happy now."

"I didn't mean it," he says, actually sounding apologetic, "I didn't mean to kill him, or anyone else. But it's the Hunger Games, Rue. It's only self defence."

"What, throwing knives at a helpless boy who meant no harm?" I spit back, "I thought you're above all this crap, but apparently not. Just go away Thresh."

A little splutter from Felix brings my attention back to him. His eyes are open now, their pupils like shards of frost. I put my mouth over his again, pushing all the life and warmth I have down his throat and hopefully into his heart. His eyelashes sweep against my cheek as he widens his eyes in pain. I sit up, feeling powerless and useless. Not only have I not helped him, it seems as though I've only hurt him more.

"Let him go, Rue," repeats Thresh from behind me, "It's only hurting him more to stay here. If you really do care for him, let him go to someplace where there's no pain."

I can feel him slipping away from me with each breath, and as the breaths become shallower the cracks in my heart widen. _No, I can't let him go. It would hurt too much. _It's selfish, I know, but I don't think I'm old enough to deal with that kind of pain yet. Yes, he would no longer feel the pain when he's gone, but what about me? What about the girl who is left behind, the one who is guilty as his friend and one of his killers?

"Felix, please," I beg, unable to subdue my selfishness, "Breath for me. I need you to live."

Thresh was right about not trusting anyone whole-heartedly, because trusting someone means caring about them enough for it to really hurt when they're gone. This boy, whom I have only met half a month ago, has become as close to me as Raven is. But is our friendship strong enough for me to be able to let go? Felix's hand comes up to brush away mine, pushing with a force as feeble as air. Biting my lip, I take my palms off his wound. No more pushing, no more breathing. Let my heart break instead of yours.

In the eerie half light, a cannon sounds. I am crying so much that it's surprising the arena hasn't been flooded away. I hold onto his hand as though it is a lifeline. My muscles have ceased to work, not even to move or protest as Thresh silent cuts the straps of Felix's bag to retrieve it. This is what they've turned us into, cold and efficient survivors, living on calculating thoughts instead of emotions. I hope you're happy now, Gamemakers. I've lost both my big brother and my good friend in one evening. One short evening in the twelve years that I've lived.

It's only when the hovercraft comes to pick up Felix that I let go. Fresh tears well up as I see him, limp like a ragdoll between the silver prongs of the body collector, rising higher and higher in the air. How come I've never noticed this when I was forced to watch snippets of past Games? How come I never see how alike the dead tributes are to broken toys, fun for awhile but disposable? I don't like to admit it, but Thresh was right in hating the Capitol for all this, and for wanting to show them all that we children are not disposable. Ma had taught me to view the world with love and only love, but after this I don't think it's ever going to be possible anymore.

And it's my fault. Thresh's fault too, it's true, but if I hadn't pointed out where Felix was, then he wouldn't have been able to react as quickly and rashly as that. I shrug his hand off my shoulder as he tries to guide me back to the hollows. He leaves me alone after that, leaving two cold loaves of bread and the full water skin at my hiding hole before retreating to his own. As the sun disappear beneath the horizon, the blaring chords of the national anthem starts up. Face after face flashes across the sky, the images of the eleven tributes now gone forever. I look away as District Eight comes on. But yearning gets the better of me, and I lift my head just in time to see Felix's eyes change to the duller brown of the District Nine boy. Bad mistake, because those summer blue eyes are the only things I can see from then on.

The temperature drops sharply as the night goes on, and my numb body becomes more frozen. I wriggle my boots off to peel off the extra pair of socks, slipping them over my hands instead. I can't sleep. It's only been the first day, and already it feels like an eternity. Felix's death has been reality's slap; clearly seeing Thresh and I finding shelter and food and water in each other's company have been too good to be true. I want to go home. I swear I will never ever complain about the work anymore, or about the lack of fairness in life, if only I can be in Ma's arms again. But I'm stuck here, sandwiched between rocky boulders with Felix's voice keeping me wide awake.

_Rue. Rue. Rue._ His words play over and over in my head like a broken record, the last song of a painful dance. My hands come up to cover my ears but it's no good. Felix's voice haunts me, along with his blue eyes that are like the summer sky. They flicker on the back of my eyelids like a ghost flame, bottomless and reproachful. _Rue, _he says again, but this time it's no longer my name. _Rue the day I met you._


	28. Chapter 28: Dreams and Nightmares

**A/N: So sorry for making everybody sad in the last chapter :( Felix, you will always be in our hearts.**

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Funnily enough I did get some sleep, despite Felix haunting every part of my world. Unlike the melodramatic stories that Raven had told me for years now, my body is too tired to twist and turn in anxiety and agony like those characters whose fates are the most unfortunate. The muscles of my arms and thighs feel like lead, and when sleep comes it is very welcome. Granted, I am not exactly curled in a comfortable position and I am not particularly looking forward to the nightmares that sleep always bring, but after today nothing can be worse than reality. It's a choice between staying awake and facing a nightmare or sleeping and facing a nightmare, but between a real and an imagined terror, I'd take the imagined any day.

_I am drowning, drowning in the vast blue sky that seems to stretch for miles on end. There's not a cloud to break the expanse, just a mellow sun shining from the east and an endless sea of blue. The overwhelming beauty of the place makes me want to spread my arms wide, twirl forever and sing my heart out. And I do just that, stretching my fingers as far as they will go and spinning like a top around the field, dropping down onto the lush grass when dizziness takes over me. Laughter bubbles up my throat like the bubbles of those fizzy drinks they served at the Capitol. I haven't been this carefree for a long time. Or this happy either._

_It smells wonderful here in the meadow, like herbs and flowers and hugs and love all rolled into one. The soft grass tickles my arms, poking at the light fabric of my dress. I sit up, arms wrapped around my knees as I take in the wonder of this miracle place. The green carpet underfoot stretches as far to the west as I can see, but to the east it meets with a tumble of evergreens weaving their branches around each other. On the edge of the meadow, leaning against the trunk of a tree, a small figure stands waiting._

_"Raven!" I say out loud, my heart almost bursting with joy at the prospect of seeing my best friend again. _

_Shaking the grass from my skirt, I stand up and almost-skip over to him. Closer up, the inky hair that I thought are Raven's are actually a dark brown, and the eyes of the boy before me are the exact same shade as the sky above us. It's a face that I thought I'd never see again._

_"Hey there, Miss Rue," says Felix, his face rosy and ever so alive. _

_He offers me his hand shyly, and I wrap my arms around his neck. The hug is surreal, like trying to wrap my arms around a ray of sunlight, but as long as I can see Felix before me, I am not complaining. He's alive. The Hunger Games has never happened and he's alive._

_He pulls me into the heart of the forest, our feet inadvertently making music as we step over crunchy autumn leaves. Clambering up the highest tree, he motions for me to climb up after him. His face is wreathed in smiles, and it's making me all warm and fuzzy inside._

_"Since when can you climb that well?" I ask, perching on a branch beside him. From here I can see right over the edges of meadow. I fancy we are on top of the world._

_"I learnt from the best, haven't I?" he smiles at me, his eyes twinkling._

_It's lovely to just sit here, talking at parts or just silently drinking in the wonder of this world and the joy of being alive. Being alive together. The more we say to each other, the more I believe that this world of green grass and blue sky is the only world that exists. He pulls out a little bouquet of flowers for me, the white and yellow of the rue flowers as vibrant and fresh as everything else around here. The petals are as light as feathers, as light as winter's first snow. I lean over to give a hug by way of saying thank you, but decide against it at the last moment. Shyly I brush my lips over his cheek._

_"Silly sentimental girl," he says, shaking his head. His face is flushed. Mine is hot enough to probably fry an egg. I look down, a little embarrassed smile curling on my lips._

_"Hey, I thought you promised not to call me that anymore," I reply, "Silly blushing Felix."_

_"Aww shut up!" he says in feigned annoyance, "It's all your fault, Miss Rue. Stop toying with me, I know you have your friend Raven back home."_

_"Can't I have two best friends?" I ask back, grinning teasingly at him, "Why, we can be the Three Musketeers! You, me and Raven. How good would that be?"_

_"What's a musket-tear?" he asks, looking at me with those blue eyes._

_"They're characters from a story Ma used to tell us," I tell him, "See, they're these three friends who are inseparable..."_

_It's just like home, me telling a story to someone I love. I can't remember half of the details of the Three Musketeers, but my imagination makes up enough side stories to fill in the gaps. The most important thing about the whole story is the motto of the musketeers anyway, and I haven't forgotten that. "All for one, and one for all." Just how friends are supposed to be._

_"...and that's how it ends," I finish with a flourish._

_"So you're a storyteller too? What can't you do, oh talented Miss Rue?" he asks, smiling at me._

_"Nothing," I say, lifting my chin a little, "Nah, there's plenty that I wish I could do."_

_"I don't believe that," he says, leaning further back against the trunk._

_"I don't believe this," I tell him, tilting my head to rest it against his shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable since he is my height, but I'm too happy to mind._

_"What don't you believe?"_

_"This," I say, motioning to the beautiful world around us, "It's better than my wildest dream. Pinch me please."_

_"Just believe that it's real, Rue," he tells me, "Believe long and hard enough and then it is. Trust me, I've tried."_

_"So it's not real?" I say. _

_I didn't want him to tell me that this is just a dream. Saying 'I don't believe it!' was just me hoping that he'll tell me otherwise. I wanted him to tell me that of course it's real, that we're really happy. But it has turned all awry. And now snippets of the Hunger Games come back to me, tearing away at the lovely dream around me._

_He shakes his head sadly. One moment my head is resting against his warm shoulder, and the next it's balanced on nothing but thin air. I lose my balance, toppling from the branch I've been sitting on. The bouquet is stuck to my hand, a bunch of wilting flowers making my grip slippery and useless. My body breaks through the leaves beneath me, hurtling through branches and twigs. Up above, a lonely white dove spreads open its wings and takes flight, its feet springing from the exact spot where Felix used to be. It's him, I know it's him. I can see the soft duck-egg blue feathers coating the dove's underwing, and I bet its eyes are the same shade of blue as the sky. He's leaving me again._

_"Felix!" I scream, but the dove doesn't turn back, "I'M SORRY!"_

_My voice echoes strangely throughout the forest. As if I've called them, a flock of birds burst up from down below. I look through the mottled wings desperately, hoping that a certain white bird with soft blue wings will be there. But all that greets me are eyes, hard shining eyes that are all too real. Green eyes of a glinting emerald I've only ever seen once before, on the face of a glamorous girl from District One. Flint-black eyes of a boy whose knife I've stolen, murder dripping from them. The grey eyes of the girl on fire, the one who would kill and die for her sister. And the haunting golden-brown eyes of a boy who had called me 'little sister', the same boy who had killed my best friend. Those eyes pierce through me, holding me captive as their owners swoop down on my falling body. Their wings slap me and whip me, and their beaks peck and prod mercilessly._

_"Don't ever forget the Hunger Games," their harsh caws seem to say, "Kill or be killed. Let go or be gone."_

My eyes do not snap open quickly enough. The dream evaporates like smoke as soon as I wake up, but the terror of the nightmare doesn't. I'm sweating buckets even though the dewdrops outside are half frozen. It wasn't all like that though. It wasn't all horrible. I'm trying hard to hold onto the last wisp of the good part of my dream. Felix. Felix was there and he wasn't dead. Felix. I would go through it all again, even the terrible parts, if only I get to relive the good bits of that dream again. I would gladly go through it all.

But I can't, and in this reality I need to leave. I slide the extra pair of socks off my hands and shove them into my pocket. Wriggling out of the hollow and pulling my backpack out after me, I proceed to unzip the largest compartment. Carefully I place my socks at the bottom, then the water skin over the top alongside the loaves of bread that Thresh has left for me the night before. Taking one last look at my hollow, I stand up and swing the pack over my shoulder. I can just make out Thresh's silhouette in the early dawn. I must be extra quiet; he's such a light sleeper. Not that I care about him waking up and finding me gone. He had hurt Felix. So screw him.

The wheat field is much broader than I remembered it. The sky's a soft pink by the time I get to the fringe of the field, the dawn light making the Cornucopia glow with a weird sheen. Skirting the field, I half jog around the Bloodbath area to get to the forest on the other side. Even though there's not a soul in sight, I'm not about to take my chances in taking a shortcut through the Cornucopia. My heart is pounding. What if something happens before I reach the cover of the trees? No, there's no point playing what-ifs. _Just do it, Rue. Just get there._

I clamber up the first tree I see like there's no tomorrow. Even up here, in the safety of the leaves, I feel terrible. The sun has come up fully now, the arena much warmer than the night before. I allow myself a moment to eat a bite of bread and gulp down a mouthful of water. The coarse bread sloshes around in my stomach emptily. I've been born and bred with hunger as a constant presence, but after the weeks indulging in Capitol food I've been accustomed to more. I'm so very tempted to finish off the roll of bread, but I must ration. I hate that word, _ration_. Almost as much as I dislike the words _tesserae _and _Hunger Games_.

Packing every back neatly, I force myself to be on the move again. Leaping through branches and leaves, I am on a quest to find the densest part of the forest to hide in. Only after I've found a grove of trees that are taller than the rest do I stop. My fingers are sore from gripping and swinging over tree after tree, but it's a comforting kind of soreness. I'm back in my element, doing what is second nature to me. Flexing my chaffed hands, I notice something that I'd rather not see. Even though I've wiped them vigorously last night, there're still traces of blood on my hands. The creases where my nails meet flesh are grimy with dried blood. The sight of it in broad daylight makes me want to be sick, but I hold it in. _No more being sentimental and caring, Rue. You're on your own now, so act like the grown-up that you're meant to be._ I shake my head to clear my thoughts, and proceed to scan the area below me.

And that's when I see the flash of orange, a solid flicker of fire.


	29. Chapter 29: Running Scared

**A/N: I am so sorry for the long absence, and with a little cliffhanger waiting at that! I'm a terrible person :P Ummm so I think some of the timing of the events are a little off from the actual book, but I am trying my best to stick by the events as closely as I can. If there's mishaps, point them out please! Be as harsh as you can with criticisms :)**

* * *

It seems so out of place, that flash of orange. Not that fires are uncommon in forests, but there's something about this flicker that screams unnatural. It flares too quickly, scaling the forest floor and engulfing everything in its path. At this rate, it would only be a few meagre minutes before I'm caught up in that fire too. Tugging the straps of my bag to tighten it against my back, I take a deep breath. In. Poise. Out. Jump. It's a neat little pattern, allowing me to focus on just my breathing and my landing. In. Poise. Out. Jump. I can hear the whizzing sounds of something flying through the air, punctuated by electric crackles. Fireballs. Great. Just great. Abandoning my breathing, I leap down from the branch and run.

The brambles underfoot trip me several times, but I regain my balance in time to continue running. Allowing myself one little look backwards as I dodge under some branches, I can see that there's some distance between me and the flames. I don't slow down though; that would be stupid. My arms and legs pump harder, taking me as far away from the fire as possible. My lungs are threatening to explode from exhaustion by the time I allow myself to slow to a jog. It feels like I've been running a marathon around Panem, but the fact that I can no longer smell burning wood makes up for my jellified legs. The only down side is that I have absolutely no idea where I am. I have no clue where the Cornucopia is, no clue where I would be able to find water and food, and no clue where Thresh and his wheat field are.

_Not that I care about Thresh's whereabouts. I've been running away from him after all. But it's nice to have an anchor regardless of what happened. Stop it Thresh. Get out of my head. I don't care about you anymore. I don't care. I don't care!_

I continue to walk on, keeping to the shadows and travelling in the opposite direction to the fire. It seems like the arena is endless, consisting of grove after grove of trees and nothing else. My stomach is rumbling loudly for some food, but I bite my lips and carry on. _Walk for another fifteen minutes and you can have two bites of bread instead of one, _I tell myself, _Just keep walking. _It's not just my stomach protesting though; my parched throat is screaming for some water. The inside of my mouth feels like it's coated in ash, and swallowing saliva only makes me crave water even more. Finally as I reach a sturdy-looking tree in a seemingly empty part of the arena, I let myself stop moving.

"Come on, Rue," I mutter aloud, "Up the tree and you can rest. That's it. Just climb."

The rough bark scratches my palms as I scale the tree, pulling tired arm after exhausted foot up to the highest branch. Resting my back against the trunk, I slide open the zipper on my pack and take out my canteen. It takes me a whole three tries to screw the lid off the water skin because of my sweaty hands and weakened grip, and by the time the water hits my mouth I am about to die with thirst. Only a mouthful though. I roll the water around in my mouth, keeping cool taste on my tongue for as long as possible before swallowing. Never mind hot chocolate and iced orange juice, right now water is heaven for me. Recapping the canteen, I place it back inside my pack and pick out a precious roll of bread. I just want to shove the whole thing in my mouth, but thankfully the logical side of me still has controls over my hands. Shakily I tear the loaf in half, placing one half away and zipping up my bag as quickly as possible. My self control is not that great yet, and I really don't need any more temptations.

After my heart stops pounding at a million miles an hour, I strap the pack back on and slide down the tree. It's still afternoon, with enough light for me to keep moving and scavenging for food. I head away from the direction of my shadow, towards what is hopefully the west of the arena. Pa has shown me that trick with the shadows once, when he took me hunting a few years back. He had said that the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, so in the morning our shadows would point to the west and in the afternoon to the east. And judging from the sunset yesterday, Thresh's field is in the east of the arena. So to get as far away as possible, I am heading west. To where I can just hide and wait. To where I won't be killed, and most importantly to where I won't see anyone die.

_Die. _The three-lettered word brings to my mind all the things that I've been running away from: the memory of the awful night when Felix died, the sinking feeling of the nightmare that I can't remember and all the guilt and pain of losing someone important to me. Unbidden, Felix's blue eyes appear all around me, in the glimpses of the sky and in every rustle of the leaves. And just as unbidden, I feel Thresh's presence in the wood around me, in the scampering of the squirrels and the flight of the birds. No. No. I cannot afford to think of them. But try as I might, I cannot forget Felix and I cannot hate Thresh. For the first time I realise how complicated growing up is. I'm not even a teenager yet, and already I am so confused and lost. And to think I used to want to grow up as quickly as possible. As a ten-year-old, I had figured that adults earn a lot more and are able to do a lot more, and had wished with all my might to be grown up. Now that wish has come back to bite me on the bum so hard that my rear end is bloody. Well, I finally understand that saying '_Be careful what you wish for'._

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts about Felix and Thresh. _Just focus on the basics, Rue. Think food and water and survival, and nothing else. _It sounds so easy, but trying to block out a major part of my mind is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I force myself to think only of my rumbling stomach and dried throat, letting the survival impulses take over my body. Food and water. That's all. Food and water.

I reach a sparser grove of trees as the sun begins to sink into the horizon. A ring of wild berry bushes surround the tall trees, each bush heavy with ripe fruits. My hands yank the berries off the bush faster than I can think, and the ripe blue fruits are halfway to my mouth before I force myself to lower my hand. _Don't lose control now, Rue. Test them. See if they're safe. _Pinching the berry between my index finger and my thumb, I scrutinise the juice that oozes out of the fruit. Blood red. Scarlet. The colour distinctive to only one kind of berry. This is nightlock that I have in my hands.

My fingers convulse at the thought of nearly eating the poisonous berry, squeezing more nightlock juice all over my palm. As quickly as it clenches, my hand relaxes and drops all the berries to the ground. I scan around my grove frantically to find some source of water, but there's nothing. I have to wash my hand, before I touch something and end up eating it. No water. What will I do? The water in the canteen sloshes around inside my backpack, reminding me that I do have a means to wash my hands, but at what cost? Finally, I exhale and pluck a sizable leaf off the nearest tree. Wiping as much of the nightlock juice off as I can, I bite my lips as I unscrew the canteen with one hand. Pouring a few drops out, I proceed to wash the poison off my hand.

I'm down to a quarter-filled canteen of water by the time my hand is clean again. Determined to find some food, I head over to the bushes again, this time armed with a handful of leaves. Instead of squeezing the berries with my bare hand, I use the leaf as a glove and test out every berry bush. At the fifth bush from the left, the berry juice oozes a deep purple that's typical of blueberries. I gather as many as I can carry, filling my backpack with what will probably be dinner for the next couple of days. Before I go, I jam two twigs into the ground to form a cross in front of the bush. It'll make it easier to find it later.

The night passes in a blur. I set up camp on top of one of the tallest trees in the grove, filling myself with berries and trying to forget about water. The temperature drops sharply as the sun disappears, and even with my jacket zipped up and the extra pair of socks on my hands, I am still shivering. I try to sleep before they play the awful anthem and show the deaths of the day, but it's impossible to sleep through the blaring anthem. At least it's short tonight. Only one death, that of the girl from District Eight. I wonder who killed her. Surely even the tough Careers couldn't raise a weapon against such a slip of a girl? But then again, the Hunger Games makes impossible things possible.

When morning comes, I am feeling like an old prune. My head is pounding from lack of water, and I feel so tired. Digging through my bag, I grab a handful of berries and shove it in my mouth. The cool juice soothes my mouth momentarily, but even after gorging myself with fruit my mouth is parched. I have wanted to save my remaining water for emergencies, but I can't stand it anymore. Taking a long sip, I close my eyes blissfully as the water unclogs my throat. I need to find more water, and fast. If only I am still with Thresh, where there is a ready source of water and food. If only...

But I'm not with Thresh, and so I do the only plausible thing there is to do. I follow the squirrels. Surely they must drink some time, and hopefully they'll be thirsty soon enough so that they'll lead me to some water. It's slow business; the bushy-tailed creatures tend to dash in random directions with no warning, but I'm prepared to wait them out. Eventually the largest squirrel bounds off into a dense patch of trees, and I leap after him. Once I've cleared all the overhanging branches, I am out in the open facing a little waterfall. The rushing sound of water over stones is the sweetest song I've ever heard. The only downside is that I have no purifying tablets. They are all in Thresh's bag, a good god-knows-how-many miles away from me.

The squirrel bends its head to gulp up the clear water, and I watch it. It sounds ridiculous to be jealous of a squirrel, but I am so jealous of its water right now. Instead of leaping away, the squirrel bounds up the nearest tree and stays there. I wait, half expecting it to drop out of the tree stone dead, but after a good half hour nothing happens. Glancing up at the creature busily munching on a nut above me, I take a gamble and scoop up untreated water in my hand.

It feels so good, like cool satin gently soothing my throat. I plunge my face in the water too, getting the roots of my hair sopping wet. But who cares! It feels so damn good and I am grinning like an idiot despite being stuck here in the Hunger Games. I fill up my canteen with the water, drain it down to every last drop and refill it again. The water's not dangerous. The water's not dangerous, and I am not thirsty! This is a feeling that Ma would call Hallelujah. Without realising it, I start to hum the first few bars of that song.

Overhead a chorus of voices echoes back my song. A group of familiar birds open their beaks and add a part into the melody, filling the forest with music. Mockingjays, they have mockingjays here. I hum a little louder, subtly changing the tune to that of my favourite song. They sing it back to me perfectly. It's just like home again.

The mockingjays stay with me for the afternoon, along with a couple of bushy-tailed squirrels. I manage to pick a few handfuls of nuts, and coupled with my water and half a loaf of bread, dinner is a feast tonight. Thresh's stone knife proves to be handy after all, providing the leverage needed for me to crack the nuts open. Instead of leaving the shells, I decide to practice my aim with them. As much as I hate to admit it, Thresh is right in saying that we are in the Hunger Games and so self defence is essential. Tightening my grip on the rough shell, I aim for a branch two dozen or so feet away. Closing one eye, I focus and release the shell from my hand. It just misses the spot by a hand span.

Picking up another shell, I throw again. This time I manage to just hit the edge of my target. The shell lands smack-bang in the middle in my third, fourth and fifth throw, making me smile to myself. I haven't lost the touch after all. Confident, I pick up the sixth shell and fling it easily in the direction of the branch. It misses by a whole lot, flying way past the target through the leaves. Before I can even get annoyed at myself for being so arrogant, the nutshell comes flying back, slightly burnt.

I am on my feet within seconds, my backpack strapped tightly to my back. Slinking away into the shadows, I wait with my heart in my mouth for an attacker to come charging in. But seconds and then minutes pass without any movement at all, and finally I work up enough courage to step out from the trees. Without my permission, my feet start moving towards the branch that I've chosen as my target. I have to know what's there beyond the trees, and why the shell came back. Despite my brain screaming '_Curiosity kills the cat!" _my body continues to head towards the unknown. Whatever's there beyond the branches is pulling my curiosity like a magnet.

Pushing the leaves and twigs aside to step through the branches, I am faced with another ring of trees. Alarm bells are ringing so loudly in my head that my feet are momentarily stilled. I scan the entire span of trees from where I stand, my eyes and ears alert for any strange details. Everything appears to be absolutely ordinary, except for one fleeting point near the top of the third tree from the right. I have to rub my eyes to make sure that I'm not just imagining it, but on second go it's still there. A tiny shimmer, like a ripple in the air. Narrowing my eyebrows, I pick up a small stone near my feet. Maybe throwing a rock at a strange glimmer in the air is not the smartest idea, but right now that is the only way to find out what the glimmer is. And my curiosity is demanding very loudly that I find out about this ripple in the sky.

Turning the stone over in my hand, I take aim and throw. Instead of flying right through to the grove of trees on the other side, the stone flies back at me. It lands beside my feet. I prod it with a ginger finger, gasping when discovering that it's warm to the touch. With several for pebbles in hand, I pelt them at the area in front of me and watch as every single one bounces back.

We're trap inside an invisible cage, and woe beholds the person who tries to escape it.


	30. Chapter 30: Raindrops

Gathering a large supply of nuts, berries and water, I return to the spot where a shimmer hangs in the air, my heart madly pumping fear and adrenaline into my veins. There is definitely no escape now, and the knowledge of this settles like a boulder at the pit of my stomach. I don't remember ever seeing someone make it to the edge of the arena. I don't remember being told about a force field at all, but then again this is probably another of those nasty Capitol surprises. Like the hole at the bottom of my pack. Like the heavy rocks piled neatly inside Thresh's bag. _It'll be like having the last laugh,_ his voice fills my head unexpectedly, conjuring up images from that first day, _Show them that we're not solely dependent on them._ Against the odds, he had split rocks and made good weapons from the useless weights they gave him. And it seems as though Thresh is still advising me now, despite all that had happened between us.

_There's a use for everything,_ I repeat to myself, my mind searching for some kind of silver lining. There's always a use for anything; it's the first lesson learnt in District Eleven, my poor and starving hometown. The force field's a barrier, and if I can't get through, then neither can anyone else. Moving as close as I dare to the edge of the arena, I tread carefully along the force field line, throwing a rock or a twig every few steps to make sure I'm not walking headfirst into a fatally invisible fence. I've found my silver lining; instead of having to watch my front, back and both sides, I only have to worry about defending three of my sides. It'll be impossible for anyone to surprise me from my right, unless they've found a way to get through the field without being turned into a kebab first. And I doubt that they could.

Even with the force field as a shield, I am on constant look-out for another tribute. I have yet to run into anyone, which is a miracle in itself considering the Careers are probably on a hunt for weaker tributes. But my luck holds out for another day. Either no one's here in this area, or they're as bent on hiding and not as attacking as I am. Which suits me just fine. I've managed to find a couple of herb bushes and healing plants on my way, gathering and storing them just in case I need them. A handful of wildberry shrubs and nuts make up my dinner, and I camp once again atop some trees. It was a quiet day, and the absence of deaths for the day proves just that. I fall into a fitful sleep the moment my head hits the trunk of the tree, reclining awkwardly in the fork of a branch. Even Felix has the sense to not haunt me tonight. It's the third day and already I am too tired for this.

I continue tracing the path of the force field the next morning, moving slowly but steadily around the arena. If I have it my way, I would be staying put in that little grove with the berries and water, but I don't have it my way. It's the Capitol's games, and I'll have to play it Capitol-style if I'm to have the remotest chance of making it out. So I keep on moving, knowing all too well that passive tributes always end up dead. In the handful of Games that I can remember, the ones who hid and stayed still always ended up being killed by some freak natural disaster. Avalanches, fires, lightning; the Capitol's used them all to wipe out the peacefully passive players. I guess it's not as exciting for them to watch someone scavenging and hiding. Probably not bloody enough.

I walk until the sun sets beneath the horizon, utilising as much daylight as I could. It's been another non-eventful day. The daily announcement says as much, a lonely blaring anthem and no deaths to report. If the earlier Hunger Games are anything to go by, tomorrow something drastic  
would probably happen. The Capitol would be roaring for some action by now. But for tonight, I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

The crescent moon gleams like a sickle in the sky as I finish eating my food, packing the canteen and water away. Despite having walked miles today, I cannot fall asleep. Staring out across the treetops, I try to place a name to the glimpses of stars peering through the leaves. Pa used to teach me the names of the stars on the clear summer nights, where the stars are light bright lights above the orchard. Just beyond the force field, I can see Sirius, shining next to a brilliant glowing spot at least four times its size. Under the moonlight, I can see a sizeable chink in the force field, a ragged hole hanging in midair bordered by shimmering electric sparks. The sparks would've been invisible in the much brighter sunlight, but set against the velvety black of the night sky they glow like fireflies. It could almost be mistaken for a low-lying star, but I know better. As I sit with my knees to my chest, feeling cold and lonely, a strange thought hits me. What if the hole really is a chink in the never ending force field? Like the chinks in the armours of those knights in the stories Ma used to tell, little weak points where the protection is most vulnerable? I pull myself up into a standing position, my right hand already reaching to pluck a seed pod off the nearest branch. With one palm against the trunk to steady myself, I take aim and fling the tiny pod at the hole.

I don't know what I expected, but this isn't it. Perhaps for the force field to crumple, or at least for a good show of fireworks. But absolutely nothing happens, aside from the fact that the pod doesn't bounce back. And then it dawns on me. The pod hasn't bounced back. The pod has gone through; gone outside the arena into the real world again.

Before I can even wonder about the possibilities of me escaping through a similar chink, a freak raincloud gathers overhead and it begins to pour. I have just enough time to swing my pack onto my back and pull up the hood of my jacket as the rain becomes heavier and heavier. Lightning flashes across the sky and rumbling thunder jolts my heart, urging me to run for my life. I swing off the tree, landing awkwardly onto the ground. The rain blurs my vision, but still I try to keep to the edge of the force field. It feels as though I'm running through a never ending waterfall, the gushing droplets pelting me from all directions. And it hurts, a lot. Those raindrops hitting me prick my skin like needles, leaving a burning sensation behind. I train my eyes to the ground, trying to protect my face from the slanting rain. Already there are red welts on the back of my hands. I've heard of this kind of rain before, but the effects of this one is much worse than anything that I've been told. Acid rain's not supposed to hurt human, but right now every raindrop burns.

I don't know where I'm going anymore; all I know is that I need to get out now. My feet take me across the forest floor, righting themselves when I trip over clumps of grass and dirt. Low branches whip me as I run by, with one particularly sharp limb ripping a hole in my jacket. The acid rain eats away at the skin on my arm, making me scream silently in pain. I do not dare open my mouth to utter a word, because then I will lose control and give in to this disaster. The ground beneath me turns from packed dirt into pebbly ground, and I pray with all my might that no one's around this open area to catch me. It would be such an easy job to finish me off here, where I'm wounded and half blinded by rain. Still I run.

It takes me a good while to realise that the acid rain has ceased. My skin still burns and my eyes are streaming despite my entire face being protected completely. As though they're in automatic mode, my legs continue to pump, taking me across the pebbly terrain. I only stop when my shoes hit water. Beautiful, cool water that is like heaven after an acidic hell. Dropping my bag to the ground in a clatter, I dive into the river headfirst, not giving a thought to my clothes. At first my wounds sting like crazy, but after the corrosive stuff wash away, the water's blissfully soothing. I would've liked to stay there forever, with wavelets lapping over my sore body, but the river's too open for my liking. Sighing, I drag myself out of the river and wring as much water out of my clothes as I can. Still sopping wet, I pick up my bag and begin my trek back to the forest. Those five hundred or so metres were the longest in my life.

I try to climb up the first tree that I reach, deciding that it'll probably be safer to travel along branches. But my hands tell me that it's a daft idea, going red raw and bleeding when I hoist myself up with my palms. The acid rain has produced small welts on the inside of my hand, despite my efforts to clench my fists while running. Gritting my teeth, I climb anyway, leaving a little trail of blood along the trunk of the tree. _Seeder, Chaff, please, _I beg in my mind, hoping that the desperation on my face is broadcasted to the Capitol, _A parachute would be lovely. _But nothing comes as the day becomes shorter. Curled up in the crook of a forked branch, I try to ignore the nagging pain of the breaking welts. The leaves that I've applied to the wounds do not help much; they numb the pain for a little but that is all. Right now I would give all I've got for a dab of the all-healing Capitol gel.

The red openings close up into small scars as the sun begins to set in the sky. The afternoon heat dries my clothes somewhat, and I feed myself berries periodically to keep hunger at bays. I should probably stand up to let my clothes dry completely before nightfall, but even the thoughts of shivering in wet clothes in the freezing night cannot muster up enough energy in me to bother. I still have absolutely no idea where I am. Every single time I gain some kind of direction, the arena's shaken up by some form of freak disaster or other. I'm beginning to think all this is no longer accidental.

The crunch of leaves on the forest floor makes me pause in mid-motion, the canteen of water hanging just a few centimetres from my lips. The footfalls are heavy, punctuated by the pitter-patter of lighter ones. There's only one group of people who would dare making that much noise. The Careers are approaching.

The canteen of water shakes in my hand as I try to screw the lid back on, the liquid inside sploshing about like waves crashing ashore. My heart is pounding so hard that I swear they can hear it beating over the top of their banter. The source of the loudest voice steps through the bramble to stand right beneath my tree, letting lose a little gasp from my throat. I jam my fist into my mouth, praying to every god listening that they haven't heard. Cato, all six feet of muscles and violent intent, is standing less than a dozen of metres beneath me.

Two blonde heads joins him, the lilting laughter of the glamorous girl from District One mixing with the deeper chuckle of her district partner. They fall quiet as a smaller figure steps through behind them, her clear voice ordering them to shut up.

"Are you stupid or what?" Clove says crossly, "Making enough noise to rattle the arena!"

"So what?" replies Glimmer, "We're Careers. What could possibly happen?"

"It's that kind of attitude that's going to get you killed," says Clove bluntly, then turning around to beckon to someone else behind her, "You two, are you going to get here before these two kill me with their stupidity?"

Another head pops through the branches to stand beside Clove, muttering profuse apologies for being slow. I vaguely remember her from Training, but I cannot put a name to her face. And then another figure steps out from the bushes to stand slightly behind the girl from Four, his hair shining like gold in the dying sunlight.

"Shall we set camp here?" asks a familiar voice. I rack my brain to place a name to the voice, but the word floats just beyond my reach.

"Yes," says Cato.

"No, we'll move on a little more," answers Clove at the same time, giving Cato a look.

"Yes, we'll move," Cato agrees hastily, "It's not too dark yet."

No further comment's needed. It seems as though Clove holds all the authority in the little Career pack. The group trudges on, with Clove at the head and Cato bringing up at the rear. District Two's more intelligent than I gave them credit for; trust is non-existent with these two. As Glimmer disappears from the grove, I let out the tight breath that I've been holding since forever. The branch beneath me screeches slightly, and I dig my nails into the wood to steady myself. In moving, some water drips from my still-wet clothes.

"It's raining, Clove!" Cato shouts ahead to his district partner, "Shelter?"

"Are you daft? There's not a single raindrop!" she yells back, "And stop with the shouting."

"I swear I felt raindrops," he mutters, looking up at the sky, "My hair is wet."

I press myself to the trunk as his eyes sweep the canopy, making myself as small as I possibly could. After what feels like an eternity, I allow myself a little peek to the forest floor. Cato has given up and starts to move on, but the boy standing before him hasn't. His blue eyes, so similar to Felix's, still scan the branches around me. With his face lifted, I am finally able to remember his name. His eyes slow to a stop, and so does my heart. Peeta Mellark is looking straight at me.


	31. Chapter 31: Of Fires and Stings

**A/N: Thank you everyone for reding, reviewing and putting this on you Favourites or Alerts :) It makes writing Rue's story that much better :D**

**On another note, we are fast approaching the famous Katniss/Rue alliance and thus the end of Rue's story according to Suzanne Collins. I have yet to decide whether this should stay in canon or deflect completely, although I don't know if I have the heart to kill Rue off like Collins did. So I need a little help from you lovely readers. Could you please take a second to vote on the poll on my profile just so I have an idea of where to go? Danke schoen xD**

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There's a sense of déjà vu as I sit frozen in that tree, praying that no one else will have the sense to look up. It has happened once before with a similar group of people, but back then it was just a joke and not a life-threatening situation. Back then we were in the Training Centre, not the arena, and back then I had locked eyes with my two best friends, not a stranger. Felix wouldn't give me away, and neither would Thresh, but Peeta is a wild card. He doesn't seem like the type, but then again he didn't seem like the type to partner up with Careers either. And guess where he's at now?

"What's with you, Lover-Boy?" says Cato loudly, jerking Peeta's gaze away from mine, "Still looking for your girlfriend? The only things in those trees are birds, birdbrain."

"Birds," replies Peeta slowly. For a split second he opens his lips to say something more, but before my heart could stop thudding he clamps his mouth shut again.

"Yes, just birds," he says again, turning away from my tree.

Cato shakes his head and proceeds to shepherd Peeta through the clearing, shoving him step by step forward violently. My head is still spinning, my heart frozen from fear. The fact that the entire Career pack is out of sight doesn't help either; I can still hear their banter, which means that they can hear me just as well. I half expect them to burst through the trees at any time, to surround this very tree and tell me that my luck's up. It makes no sense. Not the fact that I've managed for so long without being caught. And definitely not the fact that Peeta has let me be.

Peeta, blond-headed Peeta who is so quiet in training. The strongly-built boy from District Twelve who spent one whole Training day at the camouflage station, painting painstaking strokes on his body to simulate a tree. The one who shone at the interviews with his easygoing charisma and his heartfelt love confession for Katniss. Yet he let me go without saying a word to his Careers cronies. It would've meant that he is one step closer to home if he gave me away, but he didn't. He let me go despite not knowing me at all. That's another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things I'll never understand.

Eventually silence surrounds me. If I prick my ears, I can hear the fading footsteps of the Careers, but that is all. They're going further away with each passing second, but the dread at the bottom of my stomach remains. Without me as their prey for tonight, the Careers will be looking for someone else to finish off. I know Ma told me to never assume the worst about people, but I am convinced that the girl from Felix's district was murdered by these Careers a couple of days ago. Selfishly I wish that they'll get far enough from me before they find their victim. I don't think I can stand hearing somebody else's death cry, even if it means that I am spared.

As with all my other wishes, this one is not granted. Before so much as fifteen minutes pass, a loud yelp shakes the forest, followed by the jeering voices of several Careers. My hands move to block my ears involuntarily, waiting for the piercing scream that's sure to follow. But to my surprise a voice speaks, sparking and then kindling the growing annoyance in the Career pack. I'm too far away to hear everything, but the tone of voice carries the Careers' feelings enough. Despite my better judgement, I adjust the bag in my back and begin to leap through the branches. If curiosity indeed kills the cat, then I have about seven lives left to live. It's handy having nine lives, especially when one's as governed by curiosity as I am.

"Well enough," growls Cato as I come close enough to listen in, "Yourself?"

If I'm not mistaken, they are exchanging pleasantries in the middle of the Hunger Games. The boy who hunts and his victim, sitting somewhere up a close by tree, obscured by leaves. This evening's events are getting more and more bizarre by the minute. I risk another little jump to a tree closer to the Careers, wanting to see exactly what's going on. The leaves rustle lightly as I land, but the sound is masked by a familiar voice.

"It's a bit warm for my taste," says the Girl on Fire nonchalantly, as if she is merely talking over a tea table instead of being trapped in a tree, "The air's better here. Why don't you come on up?"

I bite my lips to restrain the laughter bubbling up my throat. Katniss Everdeen is taunting Cato, daringly taunting Cato despite the fact that she has been cornered by the Careers. Asking him to come on up is like asking an elephant to climb a tree. Her bravery is impressive and her words amusing, but if I was Katniss Everdeen I would not dare to say those phrases. Maybe Cato can't climb, but nothing says the rest of them can't. Especially that wisp of a girl from District Two.

"Fancy shooting?" says the pretty blonde from District One, offering him the gleaming bow and sheath of arrows.

He shakes his head, motioning them to back away from the tree trunk. The whole pack takes a step backwards. Clove looks away in impatience, but says nothing. I think she knows what he plans to do, and she knows that he'll fail miserably.

Surely enough he's back on the ground mere seconds after his attempt to climb the tree, his backside connecting with the forest floor with a loud thump. Even with sword in hand, Cato looks ridiculous. I look away from the scene, counting slowly to ten in my head to try and stifle my laughter. This is precisely why boys like Cato and Thresh aren't assigned to the orchards back at home.

Glimmer breaks away from the watching group and steps towards the tree. Without giving Cato so much as a look, she wraps her legs around the tree and proceeds to climb up. She's clinging to the tree too tightly, like a stiff little climber vine trying to shimmy her way up. Being much lighter, she manages a little higher than Cato, but not enough for her to reach Katniss. Muttering profanities, she picks up her discarded bow and arrow at the foot of the tree and aims upwards. The twang of the loosened bowstring is accompanied a second later by a little thud. The arrow lands squarely in the middle of the trunk, about three feet from Katniss.

The Girl on Fire pushes herself up to reach for the arrow, and I see for the first time that she's badly injured. With her right hand she yanks the arrow out by the shaft, waving it tauntingly as Glimmer curses some more beneath her. The blonde girl pulls another arrow out of her sheath and loads it into her empty bow, taking aim once again. A firm hand deflects the bow at the last moment, causing the fired arrow to lodge into the roots of the tree.

"You're not wasting another arrow on her," says Clove, her eyes daring Glimmer to argue, "Get your aim right, and then maybe you'll manage to hit her leg or something."

"And what do you suggest we do then, Clover?" Glimmer spits back, angry enough to face Clove and not back down, "Marvel, the spear."

Her district partner steps up at her bidding, a long spear in hand. I remember distinctly that he has excelled at spear-throwing at Training, never failing to skewer his target thoroughly. It seems as though Peeta remembers the same thing too, for he steps forwards hastily.

"It's late and we're all tired, so let's not argue," he says, not pausing to take a breath just in case someone decides to shut him up, "Let's just let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

The others huff and turn away, but no one shoots down his idea. Clove's already ordering camp to be set, and the girl from Four is shuffling away to gather some wood for a fire. Peeta's standing stock still beneath the tree, and if looks could kill he would be dead a million times over from all the daggers shooting from Katniss' glare. I guess he did save her from immediate death, but he's led the Careers to her nevertheless and she is boiling from anger. I thought I had Lover-Boy, as the Careers call him, judged and sorted, but he's full of surprises. I still have no clue why he did what he did.

As the sun begins to set, the Careers spread out their hoard of food and starts on dinner. The smell of bread and roasting meat makes me salivate, but all I have to nibble on is a stale quarter-roll of bread and a handful of berries and nuts. Katniss is chewing slowly on a strip of dried beef, looking miserable strapped to the tree, wincing occasionally as her leg changes position. Even from here, a couple of trees away from where the Careers ringed Katniss' tree, I can see the gaping burn on her thigh. But she holds her own, keeping up the brave face that she has been wearing ever since it all started. And it's costing her a lot to hold up that mask. I can tell from the sweat beading how her brows, and the way that her hands claw at each other on her lap. But the Careers are too far away to notice or care.

They finish dinner just before the light goes out completely, with District Twos repacking the food and the girl from Four rekindling the fire. They all settle around the roaring flame, even Peeta, warming their hands and talking. Marvel's actually pretty funny, although even if he is the worse joker in the world Glimmer would still laugh. They take turn to tell stories from here and there, trying to stay away from talking about home too constantly. It's strange, hearing the Careers talking like this. I guess I half expect them to be cold-blooded recluse, banded together only to murder everyone else, but they are actually friends. With a pang I realise that I would love to join them there. If only it wouldn't be so dangerous.

I have to tear myself away from their conversation. Repeating over and over in my head the phrase "_they're the enemy, run away now", _I try to piece my common sense back together and flee before it's too late. But the fire's warm and the voices friendly, even if not to me. I gaze upwards, holding my stare on the canopy of the trees and try to block their conversation from my ears. _Focus, Rue, focus._

Their voices fall away like fluid satin, leaving me with only the buzzing and chirping of the forest to listen to. I take deep breaths, counting the leaves atop the trees as I let each lungful of air out. And I hear things that I haven't heard before, like the scratching of a squirrel within a hollow tree and the flutter of birds' wings overhead. Over the top of all this, I hear a droning buzz of insect wings coming from somewhere ahead.

Eyes scanning the trees in front of me, I pray that they'll be regular insects and nothing more. It wouldn't be above the Gamemakers to put in some mutant insects that can kill. When I'm finally able to pinpoint the source of the buzzing, an involuntary gasp escapes me. About fifteen feet up from Katniss' head is a bulging sphere, grotesque and swarming with unnaturally large wasps. Their bodies gleam like gold droplets in the dying sun, the sharp point of their stingers drawing invisible wounds in the air as they fly to and fro. I've seen creatures like these before, they're not uncommon in the outlying orchards of District Eleven, but I've never seen a nest as big as this. There must be hundreds and thousands in there.

My instinct kicks in, and I am packed and out of the tree before a minute's up. One tracker jacker sting is bad enough; I really don't want to risk being next to a couple hundreds of these muttations. Flying and leaping, I scale tree after tree, leaving behind the horrid hive. Only when I am safely sitting a fair distance off from the Careers and Katniss do I realise that I've left them behind as well. Unsuspecting to the tracker jacker nest hanging like a cloud of death above them.

"No, Rue, no!" I mutter aloud to myself, torn between being a good person and being alive. I should warn them, I really should. _But would they do the same,_ another voice inside me argues, _Would they? _And the answer is no, for most of the cases anyway. Katniss, well I don't know if Katniss would do the same. After all, she is here in the place of her little sister, sacrificing her life for love. And it's Katniss who is injured; it's her who is the one closest to the muttations. What do I do?

Just like that images of Felix springs back to the forefront of my mind. My heart breaks all over again as I watch a replay of his death scene. Self-hatred pools in my stomach; the guilt and shame of not being able to save him makes me want to throw up. I couldn't have done much difference then, but now, sitting here safely with the knowledge of the tracker jackers, I can do a whole lot of difference to someone's life. My choice could define the line between life and death for her, the Girl on Fire. And for the rest of the Careers too, except they have a huge advantage already and probably would all make it if the tracker jackers decide to attack.

Silently I make my way back to the Careers' camp, inching as close as I dare to Katniss. Perched on a tree just feet away from her, I try to get her attention without giving myself away to the more vicious Careers. Her glance finally settles on me as she catches my wave out of the corner of her eye. Slowly I reach up an arm and point wordlessly to the hive, flicking my head just a little to indicate that she should pack up and run. Only when she winces as she tilts her head upwards, her fingers clutching at her bloodied thigh, do I see that she is in no position to flee. She wouldn't manage a yard through the branches with that leg, and travelling on the ground is not even an option. Between the Careers, her injury and the tracker jackers, Katniss is trapped helplessly unless if she finds a way to get back on the ground running.

Her eyebrows fairly flies off her face when she realises what those huge wasps are. I'm at a loss as to how to help her further, but Katniss doesn't seem to need it. Opening her bag, she takes out a knife and hangs it carefully off her belt. Bracing herself, she wraps her legs around the trunks and begins to climb upwards. Towards the tracker jacker nest.

If it wouldn't be so dangerous and stupid, I would be screaming my head off at Katniss. _WHAT IS SHE DOING? _I pointed the nest out to her to save her, not for her to crawl towards it! She stops just an arm's reach away from the buzzing hive, one hand clutching onto the branch holding the hive. With the other, she slides the blade out from her belt and tightens her grip on it. As the sky darkens completely and the anthem comes on, she places her knife against the branch and starts to drag it across the wood. The blaring notes of the song mask her sawing, but the anthem isn't long enough for her to sever the branch. Leaving the wooden limb three-quarter severed, she climbs back down to her original space.

Out of the many things I don't understand today, this is not one of them. As soon as she begins her sawing, I know that she's going to drop the nest. And to keep the element of surprise on her side, she's quitting her sawing the moment the anthem stopped so that the Careers remain completely clueless. It's a clever plan, even if it's a cruel one. The Careers will be stung mercilessly when the hive drops, but Katniss will get her moment to run away. Even though it's her idea, I tell myself that I've helped her to stay alive, and in doing do I've erased my sin of helping to kill Felix. _One life for another, _I repeat to myself as I leap away from the bulging nest, _One life for another._

I spend the night in a grove of tree some distance off from where the Careers camped. I do not want to risk sleeping around a nest of tracker jackers that is attached precariously to a broken branch. But morning comes and nothing changes in the forest air. It wouldn't be long until Katniss drops the nest; she doesn't seem like the type to wait around for another anthem to play. I need to be as far away from the nest as I can possibly get at this very moment, but something nags at me. There's something else that I forgot to do last night. Peeta. That's it. Peeta, the boy who has spared my life yesterday's afternoon. And I have completely forgotten to warn him about the nest.

Before I know it I am back at the Careers' camp. The sun has not yet fully risen, the horizon tinged with the merest orange. The six tributes of the Careers' pack are sprawled around the fire, with Peeta on the edge furthest away. I lower myself down until I am on a branch just a little way above him, and drop a leaf over his face. His eyes snap open as the green leaf brushes his nose, and I touch a finger to my mouth before he can alert the others. Peeta's eyes widen as he recognises me, but he says nothing. I mime Katniss' plans to him, from the branch to the tracker jackers to the fact that he should run. I don't know how much he understands, but he nods at the part about escaping and that is all that matters. As wordlessly as I have come, I clamber up the tree and leave.

On my way out, the balls of my feet poised for a great leap, I look around to Katniss. She's awake, her grey eyes searching through the trees around her for something. As they find me, she smiles a little and motions with her hand for me to leave. I allow myself a small smile back, turning away and bounding off before she starts her sawing again. It's nice of her to think of me before she puts her plan into action, and that one little kind thought and act of friendliness coats my insides with warmth. It's been a long time since I've communicated with someone, and with a jolt I realise that I haven't been starving for food as much as I have been starving for human contact. But sappiness aside, I still have to think about survival. And right now that means getting away as fast as I can.

From a tree a long way off from where Katniss smiled at me, I pause momentarily to catch my breath. The crunching sound of a snapped branch cuts through the peaceful morning and my hands fly up to my ears involuntarily. I am far enough from the nest for the tracker jackers to leave me alone, but I'm not far enough to block out the sound of the aftermath of Katniss' plan. Piercing screams tear at me, high-pitched and desperate. And the silence that follows is even worse, because it fills the air with the sounds of death.


	32. Chapter 32: Danger of Hallucinations

**A/N: I am so sorry for the late update! I hope this is enough to make up for it, and also for the fact that updates will be much less frequent now.**

**In the last chapter I asked you for all to come and vote on my poll in regards to how this story should turn out, but there has been a slight problem :) The thing is, only three people have voted, and they all chose different endings! So pretty please, if you have a couple of seconds to spare, vote on the poll embedded in my profile? Thank you :D**

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Two booming cannons sound, one after the other, like piercing gunshots cracking the arena open. Two more down. Images of grotesquely disfigured people flash at me, revealing a swelling here and a bone-stiff limb there. I'm not there, I don't know who died, but I'm familiar enough with tracker jacker stings to haunt myself. Back at home there used to be a boy living across the street from us. He was a couple of years older than me, but was just as slight as I am. Just a few years back he was stung horribly at work, falling like a log out of the tree he was assigned, his entire body purple and swollen. He was saved, miraculously, by the quick thinking of the women nearby who treated him with handfuls of crushed firna, but he was never right again. People said it was something about the hallucinations caused by the stings, or the poison injected into his veins by those mutts. Me, I've seen enough as an eight-year-old to never forget the effect of tracker jacker stings.

I wonder who it was, those two dead tributes. I cannot for the life of me imagine the pretty girl from District One as a victim, her golden hair twisted and her rosy face unrecognisable from the lumps caused by those stings. Nor could I see her district partner being taken down by mutts, and I can definitely not imagine the warrior pair from Two being eliminated so easily. That leaves the girl from Four, and Peeta and Katniss. Somehow I wish it weren't them, the pair on fire. I cannot forget Peeta's kindness in letting me be, and Katniss' smile in those seconds before I ran away.

The arena is eerily quiet as the cannons fade, with not a sound to indicate any survivor. Slowly I peel my hands away from my ears, inwardly telling myself to stop acting like such a coward. From some distance away a twig snaps, and instantly I am on alert. More heavy footfalls follow the crack, back in the direction of the fallen nest. I am on my feet, ready to go. There's a sickening crunch, as though some kind of body part is being broken, and then a string of garbled yells. All the words are slurred, as though the owner of the voice is drunk, but the urgency is unmistakable. Whoever Peeta's talking to is not replying, leaving him in a desperate monologue.

And then there's running, a pattern of uneven footsteps as though the runner is disorientated. Screams pierce through the air as flesh connects with flesh. Already the fight is back on. One last sky-splitting yell is followed by silence, broken only by the thumping steps of the victor leaving. I wait for the cannon to sound, announcing that another has been taken out of his or her misery. But seconds and minutes goes by with nothing but stillness. I count under my breath, waiting still. But not a sound reaches my ear, even when I've counted to four hundred.

The angel sitting on my shoulder is insisting that I go back to the clearing and find out what happened, just so I can help heal whoever's badly injured. I have the means to help them, alright, what with my little stash of herbs and the abundance of healing leaves around this part of the forest. But the logical side of me is telling me to get as far away as I possibly can. _It's your best chance to erase your track after all. They'll be hallucinating for at least another three hours. Just go, Rue. You've already repaid your debt to Peeta, no need to go out of your way to be kind._

So I do. Bending my knees, I leap over to another branch, and another, taking myself as far away as I can. But the angel is not finished. _What about food, Rue? And weapons? They're all at the Cornucopia, those things you need so badly. And now that the Careers are affected by the tracker jacker stings, it's your best chance to take your share of supply from their hoard. _I shake my head. This internal argument is driving me crazy. The angel insisted. _You could find good food, Rue. And even a slingshot. And don't forget, Thresh is just a field away from the Cornucopia._

That is enough to halt me in my track. The temptation of all those things, especially the last, is too great. It'll only be for a little while, enough for me to take what I need. What harm could possibly come to me? They'll be hallucinating, perhaps driven by dangerous thoughts, but they'll be uncoordinated. _It'll be okay, _I tell myself as I head back, _Just this once._

I am not foolish enough to go back through the tracker jacker clearing. Despite the quiet, there probably will be some very angry mutts buzzing around the place, and I don't want to die just yet. Using the sun and my shadow as a compass, I head towards the general direction of the Cornucopia. Skirting around the nest area makes the journey a little longer, but I arrive at the golden horn with some time to spare before the tracker jacker venom should begin to wear off. One little look at the Cornucopia makes me regret coming all this way. It is completely empty.

Light bounces off the metallic interior of the horn, as though mocking me by highlighting its emptiness. The vacant husk of gold makes me feel so mad. So annoyed and mad. At myself, at my cursed luck, at everything. I want to scream out every single bad word that I know, to swear and fold my arms and huff like the older teenage girls back at home when something goes wrong. I can't believe it. Nothing. Not even an overripe apple in the corner of the Cornucopia.

_See, you should've ran away, Rue, _says the smug voice of reason inside my head. I stubbornly try to block my internal ears, not wanting to admit that luck had failed me once again and I have nothing. There must be something left. They can't possibly have finished it all. Or even carry it with them for that matter. The Cornucopia was filled to the brim with equipment just days earlier; it would've been impossible for them to move that many things around, even with their band of the strongest and most athletic tributes. I shift from my position to scan the golden horn, noting nothing worth remembering save the fact that the ground around the Cornucopia is mangled. It's as though somebody had overturned the entire clearing, then hastily dumping the horn and the starting platforms back over the top.

The mystery of the missing supply is solved as I move around the area, staying close to the trees while keeping my eyes peeled for anything useful. About a dozen feet from the base of the Cornucopia, hidden by the massive golden walls of the horn, lay a huge pile of supply. Sacks of fruits are stacked over crates full of dried meat and cheese, only to have loaves of bread and jars of medicine tumbled over the top of them in a precarious pyramid. I would've run for it all, the food and the medicine and the slingshot dangling from a long baguette, if only there isn't someone else there. A boy, one I don't recognise, patrols the pile of supply, with a spear in hand and a set look in his eyes. I back away slightly into the leaves as he nears me, paranoid that he would sense that he's not alone.

His spearhead bounces off the dry ground as he walks away from me, pricking small holes in the earth as he circles the supplies again. I watch, fascinated, as he chooses to go around the Cornucopia instead of taking the much shorter path in between the golden horn and the pile. There's something strange going on with this mountain of supply in the open air, and this complacent boy strolling around on guard. I notice the way he keeps well away from the base of the supply, putting at least a dozen or so feet between himself and the full crates. It makes no sense, this whole arrangement. And it's driving me crazy because I can't figure out what's causing all this strangeness.

A figure bursts out from the sparse area about fifty yards from where I'm standing. I sink back even further into the trees, my back pressing hard against the trunk. A dripping wet Clove, her hair hanging like ropes around her face, charges forward. She knocks the guarding boy off his feet, her hands grappling his arms and shaking him hard.

"Clove, please," the boy gasps, his hold on the spear slackening as he tries to shake her off, "We're allies, remember? It's Jaxon from District Three, you guys told me to guard the supplies. Let go please, Clove. Please!"

"How dare you take him!" she screams, her eyes wild as she tries to strangle him, "How dare you touch him! I'll make you pay for hurting him. I'LL MAKE YOU PAY!"

Jaxon backs away, Clove still attached to his throat like a mad woman. She yells out something else, words warped with rage and tracker jacker venom, her arms shaking as she presses her fingers to the throbbing part of Jaxon's throat. He tries to guide her away from the supply tower, his spindly arms almost no match for her toned ones. Then, as suddenly as she attacked him, Clove lets go and tumbles backwards, falling in a heap on the ground.

"Cato?" she says softly, huddled up on the overturned dirt, "CATO? Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me. No, no, no! You promised me, you bastard! You promised! Don't you leave me. Don't... please don't..."

Her words fade out into sobs, strange strangled noises that I would've never associated with tough Knife Girl. I almost feel sorry for her as she rocks herself back and forth, her fists beating the ground occasionally as though she is pounding the chest of a dead Cato. And then the boy himself stumbles drunkenly into the clearing, dripping with water and very much alive. There must've been a pond or a river that way.

"YOU!" she yells again, standing up on her feet and swaying slightly as she sees Cato, "You killed him, you bitch! And you, you pathetic little liar. I'll make you both pay!"

Cato is seeing something completely different to Clove, a nightmare of another kind. He charges towards the boy from District Three, the muscles in his forearms bulging, pressing the boy to the ground as Clove runs towards them both. She leaps up on his broad back, her ragged fingernails clawing at his face as she yells out every swear word that ever existed. Her feet grind into the shin of Jaxon, the heels scratching out ridges in his skin as she tells them both to go to hell. Cato sweeps her off his back in one motion, but in seconds she is on her feet again. She remembers her knives this time, the blades glistening in her hands.

"You'll be sorry for that, Twelve," she hissed, her eyes still glazed, "When I'm done with you, even your mother won't be able to recognise your pretty little face. How dare you kill him. And don't you think I'm letting you off, Lover Boy. You're going to pay. I'll make you pay!"

She thinks Cato is Katniss. And Jaxon is Peeta. Knives wavering in her grip, she launches herself into the brawl. Slashing blindly at Cato, the boy she's avenging in her hallucination, she misses and hits the leg of Jaxon instead. The District Three boy screams, jerking up and dislodging Cato momentarily. Clove takes the opportunity to dig her second knife into Cato's arm, tearing the flesh just above his elbow. His face contorts in pain as he throws her off him. His mouth is open in a roar of hurt and anger, but nothing comes out. The tracker jacker venom has robbed him of his voice.

_Go, Rue! _urges the logical voice inside my head, now joining sides with my curiosity, _Get those packs in the corner! Before they stop their blind brawl. _My eyes jerk away from the fight to the far side of the supply pile, about thirty or so steps from the base of the stack. Jaxon has patrolled there before, walking safely past the full backpacks. I could get there and back in forty steps, I think. Alright, here's to opportunity. I edge over to be directly across from the abandoned bags, and take a deep breath.

_Run!_

Pumping my arms, I sprint over to the packs, skidding to a stop by a navy blue bag. The plan was to take the fullest one, but my hand is shaking so much that I can't even pick up the straps of the bags properly. Weighing the bags in both hands, I decide that the navy one is the biggest. Just as I set the dark green and black packs back on the ground, a knife whizzes past me to land two feet to my left.

"Get away from his body, you bloody mutt!" Clove screams, her tangled hair framing wild green eyes, "Leave him alone!"

The blue bag drops to the ground by my feet. Cato's eyes are also on me, his hands paused mid-strangling Jaxon. Before I can even think, my arm swoops down to scoop up the green bag, the lightest, and swings it over my shoulder. Another knife flies past me, and I silently thank God that Clove's aim has been weakened by the venom. Cato is on his feet now, dragging a limp Jaxon by the scuff of the jacket.

"Get away from Cato!" Clove roars, stumbling forward to drape her body protectively across the remaining packs, "I'll kill you! I will!"

My stupid brain finally clicks into gear, and I swivel around to face the forest. The stolen pack bounces on my back as I run for my life. Heavy footsteps catch up with mine as I reach the edge of the forest, equally heavy breathing making the hair on the back of my neck stands straight like soldiers. I clamber up the nearest tree, the second pack hindering me majorly. A hand grabs hold of my dangling foot, pulling me down as I cling to the trunk.

Cato's darting blue eyes bore into me as I risk a little glance down. He begins to yank me forcefully from the tree, as though ripping off some weedy climber from an evergreen. The weight of the green pack burns my left shoulder, and my grip is beginning to give.

What have I gotten myself into?


	33. Chapter 33: Are We Sinners?

I can feel the heat of his breath on my leg; he is tall and I haven't climbed as high as I'd like. His hand clamps like a vice around my ankle, pulling and dragging and forcing me to let go of the tree. An old welt from the acid rain breaks open as he continues tugging, and I have to bite my lip to keep hanging on. The nearest branch slips further and further away from me. I can almost feel the strangling touch of his fingers around my throat.

Gathering all my strength, I clutch onto the rough bark and hoist myself out of Cato's grip for just a moment. He reaches out for my free ankle a millisecond later, but that brief instant I had is enough. With all the force I could muster, I stomp down on Cato, grinding the heels of my boots into his flesh. He winces visibly and his hold falters, but he does not stop with his pursuit for my blood. I scoot higher up the tree, my foot darting out of his reach by a miracle. Dropping the green bag by my side, I slide down into sitting position. My limbs are too jelly-like for me to attempt moving. Down below, my attacker stands staring up, his brow scrunched in a strange mixture of confusion and thirst for blood, still fully affected by the venom.

Cato takes a few steps back and rams into the tree, shaking every leaf and jolting me from my precarious balance. He does it again, and I cringe as his shoulder connects with the wood in a sickening thud. Cato does not falter though; it is as if the venom made him numb to pain. Three, four, five times he comes at the tree, his weight threatening to break the trunk in half. Under normal circumstances I would be darting through the branches away from him by now, but the shaking warrants my entrapment. I can hardly stand up, let alone jump to another tree.

"Don't you try and escape me, you bitch," threatens a familiarly slurred voice, clearly brought here by the racket Cato has caused, "Forget about the mutt, you're going to suffer that painful death that you gave him."

He runs into the tree one last time, sending a shower of leaves and dried pods over my head. It seems as though he's deaf to her, ignoring his district partner until the moment she pounces on him. Taken by surprise, Cato is forced against the trunk of my tree, Clove's knife pointed at his pulsing throat.

"When I'm done with you, even your mother won't be able to recognise your pretty little face," she repeats, her knife tracing scarlet patterns on his jaw.

He roars as she carves a curl into his flesh, a silent scream that sends vibrations of rage all around the forest. The venom still has control of his voice, and it's terrifying seeing this silent nightmare in action. The knife is knocked from Clove's hand, its blade tainted with blood. It lies on the forest floor as the two District Two tributes grapple each other, both fuelled by poisoned fury. Cato forces Clove's back to the ground, panting as he kneels over her. She knees him in the groin in an opportune moment, sending him doubling over in pain. Clove staggers to her feet, her shaking fingers sliding out another knife from her boot. Standing with feet slightly apart, exactly as she had when she was practicing at the knife station back in Training, she pinches the tip of the knife and aims.

"Want to blow Lover-Boy one last kiss?" she says, her voice halfway between a snarl and a laugh. Her knife is poised in the air, waiting for the moment to pierce Cato's flesh. Or as Clove thought, Katniss' flesh.

Cato has straightened by now, his feet backing away towards my tree. Even in his manic state he realises that attacking an armed Clove is a stupid idea. His district partner steps closer, the hard glint in her eyes matching that of her knife's. She wouldn't miss, not from this close. I've seen Clove hit targets much smaller than Cato and from much further away. He ducks as the knife spins through the air, its tip a rare diamond. He didn't need to. Her wrist had flicked too soon, and the knife swings in a lazy arch to land in the space between Cato and me. She swears as she glares at her last blade, its hilt sticking out from the wood like a sore thumb.

"I'm not letting you go that easily, Twelve," she spits, taking a few step backward to gain momentum for her huge tackle. Grabbing Cato by the waist, she drags him down to the ground with her.

They roll around in the forest mulch, Clove holding her end of the fight valiantly. But her toned arms are no match for Cato's bulk, and she thrashes around as he pins her to the floor. Her fingernails gauge at his flesh, tearing and scratching in an attempt to gain the upper hand. With one large hand Cato pins her wrists above her head, and Clove hisses angrily. She twists in his clutch, wriggling and freeing her left hand. He presses his knees around her thighs, trapping any movement that she may have planned. She swings her free fist at him, knocking him squarely in the jaw and planting a flowering yellow bruise there. Maddened, Cato lifts his massive hand and deals Clove a heavy punch on the temple. Her body sags in his hold.

I avert my eyes, waiting for the cannon. A period of nothingness greets me. My lowered gaze travels from the mulch directly at the root of my tree to the gnarled wood, stopping at the metal handle protruding from the flesh of the tree. In my moment of spellbound fright I've completely forgotten about Clove's knife, but right now that is all I can see. Temptation hasn't been kind to me, and my risky runs haven't exactly turned out well, but my fingers itch for that blade lying just a couple of feet below me. A weapon like that could be the difference between life and death. A weapon like that could give me the thing I most need. Self defence.

Cato is still bent over Clove as I venture lower down the tree. His blonde hair swing like a curtain around his face as he stares at her. I place one foot down on the lowest branch and steady myself, careful not to make any noise. With one eye on Cato and Clove, I reach for the hilt. His broad shoulders are beginning to shake, and strangled noises escape from his lips.

"Clove, is that you?" he whispers, his voice hoarse, "What have they done to you?"

I tighten my grip around the handle, wondering whether it's best to yank the knife out quickly or to ease it out. From the corner of my eye, Cato picks Clove up in his arms, her lolling head cushioned on his shoulder.

"What have I done to you, Clove?" he moans, rocking them both back and forth.

I yank the knife out as he talks to her some more, his hoarse voice masking the screeching noise of metal parting wood. Swinging myself up to my original branch, I tighten the green pack to my front and poise my toes to leap.

_You can finish them off, you know, _a devilish voice speaks in my head, making me acutely aware of the solid metal knife in my palm, _Even you can't miss from this close, and they're not paying you any resistance. Do it and go home, Rue._

I pause, my heart beating a million miles an hour in my chest. That little spark of possibility has fired up something unknown in my veins, and it frightens me so much. Unbidden, my family comes into mind, the lovely faces of my parents and siblings. I can see Anise's brown eyes looking at me, and the chubby hands of my baby brother. A rush of homesickness washes over me, and my grip on the knife tightens. I draw in a shaky breath.

_No, no, no! This is entirely against everything I've known. I can't do this, this is not me. Don't lose yourself, Rue. _But I look at the pair from District Two, him bent over her, unprotected and helpless, and that crazy possibility of going home pushes me over. They're clearly one of the best here, and what other chances will there ever be of them being this unprepared? At the very least I can get one of them. The voices in my head battles out, but one thought hangs over the rest. _I want to go home so badly._

I could do it, I know I could. I do not have Clove's talent with the knives, but my aim is not bad and they are right there beneath my feet. It'll be self-defence of sorts; I'll just be preventing them from doing the same to me. My hand shakes. I am actually considering it, this act of murder. _No, not murder, merely self-defence. _Wiping my sweaty hand and picking up the blade again, I clutch onto the hilt and take aim. Right at Cato's heart.

A shuddering breath passes through me as I tell myself to fling the knife. My heart is in my throat, and I actually feel like I could pass out from sickness. Closing my eyes to compose myself for a moment, I find myself staring straight into the summer blue eyes of Felix. He has come back to haunt me, his gaze flickering like blue flame on the back of my lids. And he takes me back to that moment a lifetime ago, standing before the elevator on the last day of Training. _Promise, _he had said, offering me his little finger. _Promise to never change._

The knife slithers out of my grasp, its handle slippery from nervousness and pain. I leap into another tree before the blade could hit the ground, hiding myself and my shame in between the foliage. Cato looks up at the trees as he hears the little metallic thud, his eyes widening as he sees Clove's knife. I jump into another tree. Through the leaves I can see him standing up, propping a limp Clove against a tree before coming over to pick up the knife. She moves her head while he's gone, a moan escaping her lips. In seconds he is back by her side again, the knife pressed into her open hands. She holds onto it like a lifeline, her fingers curled around the handle like a perfect match. I look down at my own hands. To think that they could've been stained with blood by now.

I set up camp that night in a faraway tree, the most secluded spot that I could find. The green bag contains two loaves of bread, a bottle of iodine and a slingshot, the weapon that I had wanted since day one. But the thoughts of weapons in general make me want to regurgitate my meagre dinner. I can't believe what I have tried to do before, but no matter how many times I deny consciously wanting to kill, a little voice in my head reminds me otherwise. The anthem comes and goes, the faces of the other Career girls lighting up the sky. So it was the pretty blonde from District One after all. Shivering up on a branch, I slip my extra socks over my hands and try to ward away the nightmares.

_It was only self-defence. And plus, I never actually harmed anyone._

_But you had wanted to. Have you forgotten the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you aimed at his heart?_

_No! I... I didn't do it!_

_But you tried. All that mattered is that you tried._

For the very first time, I understand Thresh. I understand the struggle he must've had after I accused him. I understand the internal torment, the guilt and the shame that he must've felt when he threw those knives of his. I understand perfectly, and yet I haven't done a thing.

_I guess we are the blood thirsty savages that the Capitol branded us with after all._


	34. Chapter 34: Of Birdsong and Allies

**A/N: An early chapter, written for MaxRide05 :) This was scheduled for next Thursday, but since you're going on holidays I thought I may as well finish it before Sunday for you. Have fun on holidays, and can't wait to have you back at the end of August again!**

**Also, please continue to vote on the poll if you haven't yet. I still need a couple of tie breakers :D**

* * *

Birdsong greets my ears as the sun rises the next morning, pulling me out from the nightmarish sleep that has chased me since the previous night. A little brown bird perches on a branch across from me, its beak chirping a sweet melody. Its head cocks as I look into its eyes, and the nightingale continues singing. I sigh. My whole world has changed drastically, and yet this external world has retained every single normality. It's as if nothing happened at all, not the tracker jacker stings or the hallucinations. And especially not my intention to kill. But I know that all of the previous day was real. Unfortunately.

There's a part of me that wants to seek out Thresh, to tell him I'm sorry for leaving and to say that I understand. But the harsh side of me, the side that keeps on reminding me of my attempt to kill Cato, is holding me back. The slips of strength and morality that I had all my life have abandoned me, and I am so scared of doing something that I'll regret. The Games have done something to me, as much as I'd hate to admit it, and I am terrified of being lured by the devilish voice in my head to pick up a knife. The loneliness, the desperation and the need to be home again have nearly driven me to murder, and so it would probably be best to stay away from Thresh.

He wouldn't hurt me; I know that with every fibre of my being. But I had lost control once, and I do not want to go crazy around him. I'm scared I'm not strong enough to fight back my own thoughts for the second time. I'm scared I've changed, no matter how desperately I'm clinging onto my twelve-year-old self. I'm scared I've grown up and grown twisted too quickly.

The nightingale chirps out a farewell note before flying off, its brown wings a fleck in the flawless blue sky. I turn over in my forked branch, wincing as the muscles in my body protest loudly. The fatigue from all my tree jumping and escaping episodes has finally caught up with me, and my arms and legs feel like lead. Abandoning any plans of moving around the arena, I curl up in a ball and nestle against the wood. I'm so tired. I want to wave my white flag and give up now. The fight and the adrenaline have left me completely, and I am nothing more than an exhausted girl. I would give anything to be in my mother's arm right now, to have her brush away the curls on my forehead.

As the sun edges across the sky, my limbs become more and more weighted and dead. I want to sleep, but every time I close my eyes I see that twisted version of myself, hand clutching knife. I know I should move, even to adjust my position atop this branch, but I have neither energy nor will to do it. The more I slump against the wooden trunk, the more exhausted and tired I feel. If I have a choice I would never get up at all. Moving requires too much effort, and it brings too much pain.

_Get up, Rue, _I tell myself half-heartedly, _Get up before you lose the will to do it altogether. _I have to keep moving, even with all this pain lacing my muscles. That was one of the survival tips that Seeder had ingrained into me. _Keep on moving, even when you feel like you could drop dead from fatigue. The moment you stop is the moment you give up, and it's much harder to pick up the pieces and start moving again. Better just keep a slow but steady pace._

I force myself to sit up straight. Left hand against the rough bark of the branch, and then right hand. Slowly I push myself up, ignoring the pleas of my screaming muscles. I've repacked my two bags the previous night, placing everything I own inside the green bag and folding up my ripped one. Unzipping my newly acquired bag, I rummage around for that half-roll of bread that I've rationed myself for lunch. It has gone stale and hard, but the way it fills up my empty stomach is lovely. I wash the bland bread down with a handful of berries and a gulp of water, the last bits that I've got. My canteen is nearly drained, and the little fruits that I've gathered the days before have bruised. I need to get moving, not only for the sake of keeping my muscles alive, but also to find food and water. Whoever owned my green bag previously clearly did not think of packing more food in. Knowing the Careers, they probably would've thought that they'll never fail to make it back to base camp by mealtime. Trust their arrogant nature.

I strap the bag to my back and begin my journey through the forest. Slowly, as to not strain my body too much, I head in a south-western direction, away from the Careers' camp. I know for sure that there is a water source near their camp, since both Clove and Cato returned to the Cornucopia dripping wet. But the tracker jacker venom would've worn off by now, and I wouldn't risk being near them for the world.

Along the way I'm able to restock my bag with wild fruits and nuts, filling its insides with crab apples and various types of nuts. The picking gives me a reason to move at a slower pace and to work out the cramps and the strains in my muscles. I gather handfuls of healing herbs as well, packing the leaves away in between the folds of my old ripped pack. Who knows when I'll need them, and I'd rather be prepared than panicked when the time comes. It's another one of those things that I've learnt from my parents, watching them carefully store away grains, preserve fruits and stock up on medicinal herbs ever since I was a baby.

As I pack away a bunch of firna leaves, two small birds land down just a couple of feet above my head. I've been walking on the ground for the last two or so hours, figuring it was easier and more convenient to pick out the low lying herbs. Stilling myself, I look up at them as they begin to sing, their voices the perfect imitation of another bird's song. Their chirpy tune is that of the nightingale that visited me this morning, but their wings are not mottled brown. From below, I can see the pure white underwing of the pair of birds, an identical replica of the underwings of my friends back at home. They are mockingjays.

I couldn't help myself but to whistle my four-note tune, the one that I used back at home to signal the end of another gruelling day. My first attempt is reedy; I haven't made any noise for so long that my throat is unprepared. But by my third try the tune is better, and to my delight the mockingjays pick up the notes and repeat them. I hum something else, a lullaby that is Violet's favourite, and the birds sing along with me. The sound of our joined voices makes my heart leap, and with music surrounding me I finally begin to see beauty again. The nightmares of this whole situation fade for a little while. With such blue skies and beautiful birdsong, maybe I can get through this Hunger Games and catch up with my childhood again. The years that I've gained by watching the death of Felix and by confronting my own craziness fall away with each musical note, and by the end of our songs I am twelve again.

I put out a hand to the mockingjays, smiling into their eyes as I ask them to join me. Just like my friends at home, the pair of birds flies tentatively towards me to land lightly on my outstretched palm. Their feathers are so soft, as light and fine as my little sister's hair. I miss them all so much, from Ma and Pa to Anise, Willow, Fern, Lilith and Violet. Without much coaxing, the mockingjays hop onto my shoulders as I move on, walking towards the lapping sounds of water. I'm sure it is water; the only time I've heard that gentle rolling noise is when Thresh and I found the stream all those days ago.

Where the trees cleared there is a stream of water, wider than the one Thresh I found on that first day. I refill my canteen of water, treating it with the iodine that I stole the day before. I sit by the streamside for a long time, waiting for the water to be treated and gulping down litres of the liquid as if I am made of sponge. The mockingjays stay with me, occasionally bursting out into one of the tunes that I've sang to them hours before. They hop onto a nearby rock as I wash my face and my hair in the stream, then splashing some cool water over my tired arms and legs. Clean and revived by water, I sit back on the rocks to put my shoes back on.

As the sunlight slants into afternoon, I begin to move down the stream, looking for a suitable place to set up camp. I keep close to the forest, hiding in the dappling shadows of the leaves while staying as close as I dare to the cool water. At the first sign of another tribute, I dash into the twining trees and move away from the stream. It wasn't another person as such, more of dabbles of red on the green moss coating the streamside. I know that metallic smell. It's blood, and where there is blood there is a person. I don't want to be found.

I am securely wedged in a tree as the anthem plays, announcing the end of the sixth day of the Hunger Games. No faces light up the sky tonight. I rest my head against the rough trunk, smiling as I see my two mockingjays watching over me from the branch above. Their bright eyes look at me through the darkness, twinkling as though they are asking me to sing something. I do, my voice soft. I've only heard the song once before, in another lifetime through a strange white machine with many knobs and buttons. But lyrics and melodies stick in my mind like photographs, and it's not likely for me to forget the song that I danced to with my older brother.

_"It'll be alright,_

_We're by your side_

_So raise your head and smile your brightest smile_

_Although it's hailing out there,_

_Broken heart from a million tears,_

_Just raise your head and all will be worth while_

_So sing this song for hope_

_For dancing barefoot in the rain_

_For love, for happiness, for joy_

_And we'll never have to part ways ever again"_

The birds are silent as I finish. Turning away, I close my eyes and pray for some dreamless sleep. From somewhere above me, two little voices begin to sing. I drift off, lulled to sleep by a duet replica of the song I just sang, the mockingjays singing to me and watching over me. And for the first time since forever, my dream is blissfully blank.

I wake up alone. The birds have flown off some time in the night after singing me that lullaby. Sighing, I tear up my last loaf of bread and munched on my meagre breakfast ration. It's even harder than yesterday's bread, if that is possible, but the fresh berries and crab apple makes up for the lack in taste. Allowing myself a measured sip from my canteen, I begin moving again. It hurts less today. I guess I made it through the worst part of muscle fatigue yesterday, and I'm determined to keep moving and keep it from coming back again.

By late noon I stop for lunch, letting myself have just enough food to keep going. It's so hard to stop eating, especially since I've become accustomed to having full meals everyday in the Capitol. As I bite into my chunk of bread, I swear I can smell food cooking from somewhere close by. The delicious scent of roast meat, the sizzling of dripping fat, the smoke rising around crispy skin. My imagination is getting the better of me again. I pinch myself hard and hold my breath, certain that when I breathe again all the roasting smell will have been evaporated. But it's still there.

Someone's close by, and they are cooking real food. I gravitate towards the smell as if it is a magnet and I'm a scrap of metal, moving slowly and tentatively but being unable to resist nevertheless. The smoky scent grows stronger as I walk forward. I stop behind a tree when the roasting smell is exploding around me like fireworks, trying my hardest to be more careful than all the other times I've been tempted.

It's her, the girl whose life I've saved the days before. She looks worse for wear, her hair full of twigs and a sizable swelling on her neck from the tracker jacker attack. But she's alive, poking at a small fire and occasionally turning over some kind of bird that she's trying to roast. Beside her, just a hand's reach away, is the gleaming bow that Glimmer had offered to Cato that day under the tracker jacker tree. She must have taken it before Glimmer died, along with the full sheath of arrow. The sight of those weapons makes me take an involuntary step backwards.

The snap of a twig makes my heart stop for a couple of seconds, freezing me in a vulnerable position right within shooting range of Katniss Everdeen. The toe of my right boot peeps out from behind the tree trunk, and I yank it back as soon as I regain control of my heart again. Did she see it? I hope not. But of course she did, because I can hear her moving.

Would she spare me? She owes me one, but somehow I don't think paying debts is anyone's priority in the Hunger Games. I've never seen her with a bow and arrow, but I'm sure she's decent at it. And even if she's not, how hard is it to shoot a target from a couple of feet away?

I think about running, but my feet are glued to the ground. Her clothes rustle from the other side of the tree, and I close my eyes.

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances," she says.

The whirring sound of chaos inside my brain stops, and several seconds later the meaning of her words register with me. Is this a trick of some sort, to lure me out and then finish me off unexpectedly? I don't know; I don't know anything anymore.

_Since when have you become so cynical, Rue?_

I see her volunteering for her sister, I see the little smile she gave me and the way she wanted to make sure that I'm out of the tracker jacker's way. I see the kind spark in her eyes, ever since the first day at training, and feelings of shame wells within me for being so distrusting. Haltingly, I lean out from my hiding place, revealing only a corner of my face.

"You want me for an ally?" I ask, surprised that she even considered this at all. _Clearly you don't know how much bad luck I bring to my allies. Oh, Felix..._


	35. Chapter 35: Looking Through Me

**A/N: Thank you so very much to my lovely readers, reviewers, and all those who have put this on Favourites and Alerts :) Some of you have stuck by me for pretty much every single chapter, reviewing with lovely long thoughts every single time, and I am so grateful to have such a supportive readership.**

**Also, thank you so much to those who voted. There's 15 official votes as well as several preferences told over reviews (most of them anonymous) so I will take all you opinions into account. You can still vote if you want to, I will leave the poll as 'open' until this story is complete, just for the sake of keeping the ending a surprise.**

**Another thing is that I'm going to take a little creative license with the interaction between Rue and Katniss. Where there are dialogues, I'll try my best to stick to canon but it won't be exactly the same. There'll be a lot more expansions etc., just so you're all aware. This does not mean that the ending will definitely not be canon though :) Anything is still possible :)**

* * *

She rises partly, looking as though she's about to approach me, but then thinks the better of it and sits back down. I realise that I've involuntarily moved backwards as I saw her rising, my face hidden behind the tree. Katniss moves the bow and arrows away from her with a swift kick, and then shows me her upturned palms. It's what hunters do when they try to gain the trust of some small animal, and with her empty hands she's trying to gain my trust. Casting one last look at the bow and arrows, I decide to put my life in her hands. Holding my breath, I step out into the open, feeling as exposed as the time Lavender Du Bois ordered me to drop my towel.

"Why not?" Katniss begins speaking again, and it takes me a while to figure out what she means, "You saved me with those tracker jackers. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway."

I feel as though my tongue has gone off on a vacation somewhere to leave me speechless. Katniss hasn't reached for the weapons yet. Taking another tentative step, I make my way towards her. Yes, I have saved her and yes, I guess I am smart enough to still be alive. But why does she think I've been following her? Apart from the glimpse at the Training Centre and then the incident with the tracker jacker nest, we have not seen each other at all.

"You hungry?" she asks again as she realises that words were failing me.

My eyes trail from her face down to the banked fire at her feet, where a crisp golden bird lies invitingly. _Of course I'm hungry; this is called the Hunger Games for a reason._ The wafting smell of roast meat fills my nostrils, and saliva floods my mouth.

"Come on then," Katniss continues with her monologue, her hand patting the spot next to her as she calls me over, "I've had two kills today."

She winces as the back of her hand scrapes against the rough bark of the log, and cradles it near her chest as she invites me with her eyes. Through her nursing fingers I can see the culprit of the wince, a ghastly swollen lump that has 'tracker jacker' written all over it. So they got her too.

"I..." I begin, slowly regaining control over my vocal cords, "I can fix your stings."

The words come out in a rush, not at all what I want to say. Somehow, in between my brain and my mouth, _"How do I know I can trust you?"_ has turned into _"I can fix your stings"._ Katniss is as surprised as I feel, her mouth opening a little as she takes in my very strange reply. Unlike me, she recovers.

"Can you?" she asks, her voice hopeful, "How?"

I walk the last few steps towards her, plonking myself down on the edge of her log. I guess my heart has decided that she can be trusted before my brain has a chance to protest. After the many scrapes I've gotten in over the last few days, I had sworn that I wouldn't follow my instincts to do stupid things anymore. _But this feels different from all the other times, _my heart argues, _This feels safe._ Pulling my backpack into my lap, I unzip it.

"Where'd you find those?" she asks as I take out a bundle of firna. Judging from the spark in her eyes, she recognises what they are.

"Just around," I reply, still guarded, then adding in the very last moment, "We all carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there."

"That's right," Katniss says, smiling at me as she looks me up and down, "You're District Eleven. Agriculture. Orchards, huh? That must be how you can fly around the trees like you've got wings."

I can't help but smile at that description of me. It's what my parents used to call me at home, and Raven too. _Our little bird, _they had said, ruffling my hair.

"Well, come on then," she continues, breaking into my reverie, "Fix me up."

I chose a couple of firna leaves and put them in my mouth. They have a rather bitter taste, but for the healing effects to work I have to chew them. While I'm at work Katniss proceeds to roll up the left leg of her pants and flick her matted braid behind her shoulders, revealing two more glistening lumps. Taking the green glob from my mouth, I spread it over the wound on her hand and her leg. It looks like I'll have to do a second round of firna for her neck.

As soon as the herbal mush hits her skin, Katniss lets out a long and relieved sigh. It's halfway between a sigh and a whistle, and I don't know why but right at this moment it strikes me as being hilarious. A little giggle bubbles up my throat, and when Katniss winks at me I laugh out loud. Her facial expression is priceless.

"Lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers out," I try to say in between my fits of laughter, wanting desperately to be seen as serious and mature by Katniss, "Or you'd be a lot worse."

But she isn't acting like a grown up at all, her face wreathed in smiles as she grasps my hand. Her calloused fingers tug at my own. I haven't been in contact with another person for so long.

"Do my neck!" she urges eagerly, not acting like how I expected a girl with an eleven from Training to act at all, "Do my cheek!"

She brushes the dangling strands of hair off her face to show yet another sting, this one much smaller than the rest. I stuff a few more leaves in my mouth, chewing carefully and then applying the mossy pulp to her neck. She gasps with relief, her mouth upturned in a megawatt grin. She slouches down a little, relaxing her pose while making my job easier. With her face level with mine, I spread the rest of the firna paste onto her cheek, letting my guards down further.

"I've got something for that," she says suddenly, sitting up straight again.

I tense a little as she reaches for her pack, moving closer to the bow and arrows. My feet are poised to run; escaping has become second nature for me. But she slides back to my side with a little tub in her hand. It's full of an oily yellow ointment, the kind that looks exactly like the medicine back at our local apothecary. She takes my hand once again and turns the palm skyward, rolling back the sleeve with one hand. I have a crazy urge to snatch my hand away, but I hold still. She dips her finger into the tub and proceeds to coat all my acid-rain welts with the ointment, rubbing them in with unexpected gentleness.

My face is level with her chest now as she holds my arm up to inspect for further injury. On the fold of her dirt-smeared tribute uniform is an ornate badge, a gold pin in the shape of a mockingjay. The pin flutters on the cloth as she moves her arm, her fingers still trying to fix me as best as she can. I decide once and for all that Katniss Everdeen has my complete trust. I'm always one to befriend mockingjays, anyway.

"You have good sponsors," I tell her, feeling a little envious. Okay, a lot envious. I've yet to see a single parachute.

"Have you gotten anything yet?" she asks, as though she can read my mind.

I shake my head.

"You will, though," she tries to reassure me, "The closer we get to the end, the more people will realise how clever you are."

I nod and return her kind words with a small smile, but I think we both know that my chance of a sponsor is next to nothing. Even near the end, if I ever make it that far, the audience will put their money on the stronger warriors, not a child like me. The audience will want to sponsor tributes like Thresh and the Careers and Katniss, tributes with a real chance at winning. No one would want a tiny slip of a girl like me.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" I ask, tentative because I cannot see a single reason why she would want to associate with me. Whatever I am, I'm definitely not an asset in this Hunger Games. If Felix is alive, he'd tell you the same.

"No, I meant it," she says, looking serious.

I don't understand why she would want to ally with me, nor can I understand why she's so nice to me. But the simple truth is that I like her, and after such a dry run without a single soul as company, her smiles and lovely words mean a lot to me. She's like the sun and me a sapling that craves warmth, and having her as a friend would make this hellish experience bearable.

_Who said you are friends? _challenges the ever-cynical side of me, _Allies are just for survival, nothing more and nothing less. She just wants to use you, and when the time comes you wouldn't matter at all._

I look up at this girl sitting next to me, at her messy braid and her faraway eyes. She notices my stare and returns it, her mouth curled into a half smile as she looks right through me. It's startling, having someone look right through me as though I am made of glass, and it sends a shiver down my spine. From the soft look in her eyes I can tell that she's remembering something, or someone, and I am the one that brought the memories to the surface again. No, I guess she doesn't see me as a friend at all. A scene of a screaming Katniss, her voice breaking with sheer desperation, replays in my head over and over again. I've only seen it once, a whole lifetime ago on that train bulleting towards the Capitol. I think I remind her of a certain blonde girl, one who is my age and size. She doesn't see me as a friend at all; rather, I am the little sister that she would die to protect. As if confirming my thoughts, the golden mockingjay glints in the sunlight.

"Okay," I say, offering her my life and my trust in one outstretched hand.

She takes it in her own, not just the hand I offered her but the other as well.

"It's a deal."


	36. Chapter 36: Of Groosling and Siblings

She clears a patch of ground for my own pack, kicking away the stray twigs with the toe of her boots. I sit down on the end of the log, my bag still open, the fabric pressed against my chest. She stirs up the embers with a long stick, tossing the glowing branches so that the groosling cooks faster. The sight of the dripping fat and the crispy bubbles in the skin of the bird makes my stomach growl. When the groosling is properly browned on all sides, Katniss picks it up and deftly breaks it into pieces. She offers me part of the breast, the pale white meat gleaming.

"I..." I start, dipping my hand into my own bag, "I've got some things we could eat with that."

Carefully I take out my stash of roots, herbs and berries, laying them all out before her like an offering. Since she is feeding me, I feel like I should give her something too. I like the idea of this friendship being an exchange, rather than me owing her food upon kindness. Ma and Pa have taught me to hate the feeling of being indebted, and so I push my meagre collection of food across to Katniss.

"That tastes really good roasted," I tell her as she eyes a particular white root with suspicion, "Here, I'll just bury it in the fire and it should be done in five minutes."

Leaving the pile of berries and herbs beside my bag, I kneel down to place the dozen or so roots into the glowing ember, pushing the hot coals back over the top with a stick. It's a method of cooking that is used commonly back at home, because it allows two things to be done at once. When I am finished, Katniss hands me the steaming groosling breast from earlier. She hasn't eaten yet. I think she was waiting for me.

"Thanks for the roots, Rue," she says, using my name for the first time, "They look great, and I'm sure they'll taste amazing too. Maybe even as good as that lamb stew from the Capitol."

I laugh at that. That lamb stew was the thing that made Katniss Everdeen's interview such a success, and now she is comparing it to my homely roots. The earnest look on her face as she tries to make me feel good makes me giggle, because somehow Katniss Everdeen and intense seriousness just don't go together. I take the juicy piece of meat from her hand.

"Here's to the Hunger Games," she says mockingly, raising her own groosling breast as though it's a toast, "And here's to us."

I follow suit, grinning at the silliness of it all. The steaming groosling is screaming out to be eaten, but I restrain myself to a small polite bite because I don't want to be rude. But Katniss goes for it like how my littlest sister would, holding the piece with both hands and tearing out a large chunk. I copy her, eating as I would back at home, biting into everything with relish. In a few short moments she has made me so comfortable, and for that I am extremely grateful.

"You're lucky with this groosling," I remark in between bites, "It's not the season for it."

"Really?" she replies, wiping the congealed fat from her fingers before picking up another piece of meat, "I had no idea. I didn't even know what it was until you told me. I was praying that it's edible; it looked similar to some of the birds we hunted at home, but that's about all I knew."

"Yeah, they're grooslings," I confirm, finishing up the last morsels of my meal, "In autumn, when they migrate pass our orchards, people would try to shoot them down. A single groosling would feed a whole entire work unit. Groosling days are lucky days. They're so fatty that even a tiny bit makes a decent lunch."

"A whole work unit?" she asks, aghast, "Isn't that like thirty or so people?"

"No, twenty," I correct her, looking down at the remaining pieces of groosling, "We have smaller teams in the orchard, mainly because the work's lighter. In the fields, where Thresh works, well, _worked_, each team's about thirty to forty people."

"Take the drumstick," Katniss tells me as she sees me looking, picking up the leg herself and pressing it into my hand, "Stuff yourself."

I take it up in my hands, pausing our conversation momentarily to eat. Katniss digs into another piece herself, and for a while we sit in silence as we devour our first real meal in days (well, it is _my _first real meal. I'm assuming it's the same for her). I scramble onto my knees to dig out the roots as I finish my groosling, blowing on the char grilled plants before I hand them to Katniss. It's a little overdone, and we have to scrape some burnt bits off, but it tastes delicious. Although I suspect that may be because we had the groosling beforehand. I've eaten these roots raw for days, but with a little fire it turns from a necessity into a nice meal.

"Tastes like parsnip," Katniss remarks, blowing the ashes off her fourth root, "Between you and me, we have a real feast here, eh?"

"Uh huh," I nod, still filling my nowhere-near-full stomach.

I'm only picking at the roots, because even though there's about a third of a groosling left, I don't dare take any more. Katniss would probably want to save them anyway. I would, if I was her. Popping the last piece of meat into my mouth, I throw away the clean-picked bone.

"Oh," I sigh, sucking the last of the groosling juice off my fingers, "I've never had a whole leg to myself before."

"Take the other," Katniss tells me, motioning at the remaining leg sitting before us.

I didn't mean for it to come out that way, like I'm desperate for a piece of food. Well, to be brutally honest, I _am_, but I don't want to come off like that at all. I look away from the meat, trying my very hardest to control myself. I do want that groosling. Rather badly.

"Just take the other leg, Rue," she repeats, working through my self control.

"Really?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Really," she tells me, "Take whatever you want. Now that I've got a bow and arrows, I can get more. Plus I've got snares. I can show you how to set them."

I want it so much, but I don't want to take it. Goddamn etiquette.

"Oh, take it," she says, shoving the drumstick into my hands, "It will only keep a few days anyway, and we've got the whole bird plus the rabbit."

She motions towards a skinned rabbit by the fireside, cleaned and ready to be roasted as soon as there's room on the fire. The sight of the extra food makes me feel less guilty, and so I raise the second drumstick to my mouth. Once the sweet juice of the groosling fills my mouth, I can't resist any longer.

"I'd have thought, in District Eleven, you'd have a bit more to eat than us," she says while I chew religiously at my huge mouthful of meat, "You know, since you grow the food and all."

"Oh, no," I reply as I swallow down the mouthful, surprised that she even though as such, "We're not allowed to eat the crops."

"They arrest you or something?" she queries, replacing the groosling with the rabbit and stirring up the fire some more.

_I wish! If only that's what they do._

"No, they whip you and make everyone else watch," I tell her, trying to choose my words carefully, "Or worse. The mayor's very strict about it."

"Oh," she says, clearly shocked by the way my district operates. I wonder why.

"Well, do you get all the coal you want?" I ask her, genuinely curious.

"No," she answers, "Just what we buy and whatever we track in on our boots."

So it is the same everywhere else in Panem. We steal fruits, they take coal. And I bet in every single other district people sneak out their produces to maintain survival too.

"So I guess you take tesserae too?" she asks, steering the conversation away from illegal doings, "What with having to hand in all the food that you produced."

From the way her eyes darted to the trees around us, I realise that she's looking out for cameras. I've forgotten that this is broadcasted all day around Panem. It wouldn't do to talk bad of they way the Capitol has treated us.

"They feed us a bit extra during harvest time," I chime in, wanting to erase my wrongs, but can't resist adding in at the very last minute, "So that people can keep going longer. From sunrise to sunset, you know. It wouldn't do to have fainting workers."

"Don't you have to be in school?" she queries.

"No, not during harvest," I tell her, "Everyone works then."

And by everyone, I mean _everyone. _From my great aunt who is turning seventy this year, to my baby sister who is just five. I swear Willow has spent more time scaling apple trees than inside a classroom.

"But I'm in school for the other half of the year, where it's not the season for anything," I continue, "So I guess I'm like the rest of the other kids in Panem. Well, assuming that they do the same thing as us. We were never really taught about the other districts at school. Save the titbits about the Dark Days and the Hunger Games. But that stuff's depressing."

"I don't know about the other districts, but Twelve has school for all the children as well," Katniss tells me, "My sister's there now, actually. Her name's Prim, you know. Primrose Everdeen."

I do know. The blonde girl with a sister who loves her enough to give up anything for her. Even her life.

"She's twelve too?" I ask, my voice soft as to not stir up too many painful memories.

"Just like you," Katniss confirms, her grey eyes sad, "But it's okay, Gale's looking after her now. And I'll look after you."

"You don't have to, you know," I tell her, knowing full well that this friendship cannot last, "It's okay."

"No, I do," she tells me, her eyes a million miles from here, "I want to. I want to protect you, Prim."

And with that she turns away to flip the rabbit over, leaving me sitting alone on the log. I don't think she noticed her slip of the tongue.

She called me Prim.


	37. Chapter 37: A Haven Within Hell

**A/N: Okay, I know I've been spamming your inboxes with updates, but I just love the chemistry between these two too much to not write :) Anyhow, enjoy this part of the conversation (I know, I know, I've extended everything to the max, but these two are just so fun!)**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing once again, my lovelies :)**

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"You done eating?" she asks me as I pop the last bit of root into my mouth.

"Uh huh," I nod, wiping the grease from my fingers with a fallen leaf.

She's busy by the fire, cutting the cooked rabbit into pieces and leaving them to cool on a large sheath of leaf. At her nod of the head, I kneel down beside the dying fire to put it out, packing handfuls of dirt over the faintly-glowing coals. We'll be leaving soon, and it wouldn't do to leave such a visible track.

"So what's it like?" she prompts a conversation as we both work, "In District Eleven, I mean."

"Well, there are lots of plants," I begin, stating the obvious because I don't know where to start, "The District's got two main plantations, one's for grains and the other for fruits. The jobs there pretty much get passed down in the family. My great-grandparents were given an area in the orchards years ago, and my whole family still works there now. What about you? Do you mine?"

"No," she shakes her head, "We only start mining when we hit eighteen. Guess I'll never have to now. Well, I never liked the claustrophobic mines anyway, so I guess that's one good thing about the Hunger Games."

"Really? Eighteen?" I ask her, ignoring the second pessimistic half of her answer, "I started work when I was five. In poorer families, kids begin fruit-picking even earlier than that."

"Yeah," she says, blushing slightly, "But I wish I could've started earlier, just for the sake of earning more money. The amount my mother makes from healing is nowhere near enough to feed all three of us."

"I don't think we'd cope if we're just living on my parents' income," I tell her, "We're barely coping as it is."

"Six kids, yeah?" she asks, earning herself a surprised look from me, "You said you have five siblings at the interview. I haven't forgotten yet."

"You remembered _that_?" I exclaim, incredulous, "You and Peeta fairly stole the show, and you remembered what I said about my family?"

"Of course," she replies, "Can't forget the 'angel in the arena', can I? And you were so cute too. Still are, even under all the bruises and cuts."

I laugh at that, blushing a little at her compliment. "Seems like you and Thresh were the only ones who thought so," I tell her, "Everyone else has their eyes on you, Miss Girl on Fire."

"Aww, shucks," she chuckles.

"Especially a certain someone, eh?" I tease her, pausing my packing momentarily to look up and wink at her, "So tell me, is it true?"

"Is what true?" she fakes ignorance, although from the look in her eye I know she knows full well what I meant.

"Is it true," I press, grinning at the growing patches of pink on her cheeks, "About you and him?"

"Well, depends on how you look at it," she replies vaguely, deftly wrapping the rabbit pieces with fresh leaves, conveniently breaking eye contact with me, "What about you? Any romance?"

"I'm only twelve," I remind her in a mock-serious tone, but the gossipy feel of our conversation makes me grin instead, "But if I'm a hundred percent honest, then there is this boy..."

"You're just like her, you know," Katniss remarks, laughing as I lean in conspiratorially, "Prim used to tell me about her little crushes all the time, and I used to tell her that she's too young to have love interests. But then she'd only laugh at me and said that _'just because you're all boring with Gale doesn't mean I have to be'_."

She says that line with a flick of her braid and a feigned haughty look, clearly doing a very bad imitation of her little sister. It makes me doubled over from giggling.

"And then I'd pretend to be mad at her, huffing off into a corner and telling her that I don't give a hoot about the name of her latest lover-boy," she continues, standing up to act out her little imagined scene with her sister, "But after half an hour or so, she'd come up after me and beg me to listen. She's a funny thing, my little duck. But tell me about this boy?"

"Well, he's quite something," I say, my cheeks flushed, "But I'm not going to admit my crush on national television!"

"You brought up the topic," she teased me, nudging me with her elbow, "Come on then, Rue. Spill the beans. Everyone's on the edge of their seat waiting for you."

They're probably disappointed that we're sitting here and chatting, actually. It would've made much better television if we're at each others' throats, instead of egging the other on about love confessions.

"No, you said nothing about you and Peeta," I tell her, trying hard to hold back my laughter enough so that I can shake my head, "So I don't have to say anything either."

"Ah, stalemate, eh?" she smiles, putting two bundles of wrapped rabbit before me. She packs the other two into her pack.

"Stalemate," I agree, smiling just as stubbornly back, "Here, take some of my food in exchange for the rabbit. There're plenty of these plants around."

"No, you keep the rabbit along with the rest of your stuff," she insists, "I can manage."

"No, sharing is caring," I stand my ground, dividing my stash of edible plants into two neat piles and pushing one of them towards Katniss, "My parents have taught me that ever since I could remember, and I'm not about to be selfish now. Besides, we'll both do a lot better with a good stash of food."

"Oh, alright," she recedes, flashing me a grateful smile as she tucks her share of plants into her bag, "I've got a couple of crackers and another four strips of dried beef to throw into the mix then; two crackers and two strips each. They keep for longer, so save them as the emergency supply."

"Oh, and I have another handful of berries and a bunch of firna," I add, splitting my newfound supply up in half, "They'll be good for staying hydrated later, and the firna'll fix up your stings if they swell up again."

She takes a deep blue berry in between her fingers and rolls it around, looking uncertain. "You sure this is safe?"

"Oh yes," I tell her, recognising the berry as one of those I've painstakingly differentiated from the nightlock, "We have them back at home. I've been eating them for days, and I'm okay."

She pops the bruised berry into her mouth, the corners of her lips tugged up blissfully as she rolls it around on her tongue.

"Tastes like blackberry," she remarks, putting another berry in her mouth, "Well, since we're divvying up all our food, we may as well look over the rest of our things. Prim, do you mind passing me my bag?"

There it is again. Prim.

"Ah, the damn thing's stuck," she mutters angrily as she tries to yank back the zipper on her bright orange bag.

"We'll just divide my things up first then," I suggest, laying out the content of my pack on the ground, "I've got everything in odd numbers, so we'll have to figure it out somehow."

Katniss has successfully opened her bag, but she put it down beside the log to crawl over to me, her eyes looking over my meagre supply.

"You keep your water skin," Katniss says as she hands it back to me, "I've got one too, so we're both set. And keep your slingshot too. As well as that pair of socks. I've got enough clothes and a bow and ..."

The rest of her words fade away in my ears as my fingers touch something sharp at the bottom of my pack. At the bottom of my pack, poking out from a frayed hole in the broken bag I got from the Cornucopia, is a shard of stone. Its tip is still sharp, the blade chipped slightly from wear. I pick it up slowly, my palm enclosing the zigzagging vines that bind the stone blade to its handle. It's the knife Thresh gave me for self-defence on that very first day, just hours before Felix died.

"Did you make that?" Katniss asks me, leaning over to look into my bag.

"I know it's not much," I reply, my head still in a haze, "But I had to get away fast."

I did. At that moment in time I had to get away from Thresh and the field and any reminders of Felix's death. But I didn't take into account how _I _am the biggest reminder of Felix's death of all, and how I can hardly run away from myself.

"Well, you did just right," she tells me, mistaking the meaning of my words completely, "Only the smartest tributes know to run _away _from the Cornucopia instead of _towards _it. Alright, let's take a look at my stuff."

She spreads her supply out over the patch of dirt where my things have been, placing each thing down with the utmost care. She pulls out thing after thing after thing, and I'm about to believe that her bag is bottomless when she places the last item down with a flourish. Over the coil of rope and the sleeping bag lies a pair of glasses, the lens tinted strangely. Katniss Everdeen has indeed saved the best til last, because that pair of glasses is probably one of the most valuable things inside this arena.

"How did you get those?" I ask her after I recover from my initial shock.

Is it even real? I don't know. I reach out a finger to touch it, and only then, with the feeling of cool material beneath my hand, am I convinced that it is real. Katniss has a pair of night-vision glasses.

"In my pack," she replies nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders, "They've been useless so far. They don't block out the sun and they make it harder to see."

"Those aren't for the sun!" I exclaim, surprised that she has no idea about her own treasure, "They're for darkness! Sometimes, when we harvest through the night, they'll pass out a few pairs to those of us highest in the trees, where the torchlight doesn't reach."

"No wonder everything looks blurry when I had them on in broad daylight," Katniss says to herself, slapping her hand against her forehead in annoyance at her cluelessness.

"No, they're useless in sunlight, but I think only us night-harvesters know about them," I say, "They're incredibly rare, and the Peacekeepers back home guard them like hawks. One time, this boy Martin tried to keep his pair. Shoved them in his pants and tried to make it through the compulsory body search. They killed him on the spot."

"They killed a boy for taking these?" she gasps, incredulous.

"Yes," I nod grimly, suddenly saddened by this reminder of the cruelty back home, "And everyone knew he meant no harm. Martin wasn't quite right in the head, and he still acted like a three-year-old even though he was older than me. He just wanted them to play with, that's all."

"Oh," Katniss says, struggling to find the right thing to say and resorting to changing the topic altogether, "So... So what do these do?"

"They let you see in complete darkness," I explain, unable to show her how they work in broad daylight, "Try them on tonight when the sun goes down."

"I've never seen anything like it before," she confesses, tucking the pair of glasses back in her bag, "At home we used matches to light up the dark, not these high-tech things. And I've been using matches my entire time here too."

"Oh, we use matches most of the time too," I tell her, "These are only for special occasions. I've been using flints for fires here, even though I've only lit one because I'm terrified of _them_ seeing the smoke."

"Here, take half of my matches and this flint stone," she hands me the bundle of matches, taken from her own stash, "Just in case we get separated and you need to light up something. No, don't refuse and be all polite. Just take it. I'm taking your stuff, aren't I? It's all fair and square."

Unable to argue, I slip the precious matches into my pack, making sure they stay in the driest place possible. Katniss stands up and takes a large branch in hand, using the leaves to level out the extinguished fireplace before us. I strap my bag over my shoulder as she picks up hers, and we make our way towards the mossy bank of the stream, Katniss using the branch to erase our boot prints as we walk along. Being out in the open makes me a little uncomfortable, but Katniss makes sure we're hidden by the dappling sunlight through the streamside trees.

We eat dinner early, munching on the remaining pieces of groosling as we walk. There is no point stopping, and besides, Katniss wants to cover a reasonable distance before nightfall. As the light begins to disappear, we leave the streamside to venture in the forest again. It's starting to get colder, much like the previous nights, and the thoughts of sleeping half-frozen in a tree makes me shudder.

"Where do you sleep?" she asks me as we stop within a particularly dense grove of trees, "In the trees?"

"Uh huh," I nod.

"Just in your jacket?"

"Yes," I say simply, swinging my pack off my back and taking out the pair of socks Lavender gave me. My fingers are getting numb. "But I also have these for my hands. They're nice and warm."

She looks thoughtful for a while, before opening her mouth again. "You can share my sleeping bag if you want. We'll both easily fit."

"No, it's okay," I shake my head, "I'll survive with my sock-gloves."

"Geez, stop trying to be so polite all the time," she tells me, a little exasperated at my apprehension, "Think of it this way. I'm not actually doing you a favour at all, but our body heats combined together will make the night less cold. For both of us."

Well, if she puts it that way...

"Okay," I reply, trying and failing to stop my grin from surfacing. This girl has only spoken to me for half a day, and yet she has already figured out the ways I think and the ways to make me agree with her.

Truth to be told, I do think it'll be lovely not to sit frozen and lonely as night falls for once. Actually, I think it'll be brilliant.


	38. Chapter 38: Sleep Tight

**A/N: I am so incredibly sorry for not updating any earlier, life has a tendency to catch up with me :) But this is the last bit of Katniss and Rue's conversation before the crucial scene, of which I will include a brief conversation at the start and then it's down to business with the explosion. That should be up within a week (or two at the most!) but yes, that is the current plan.**

* * *

We spread out the sleeping bag for the night, performing the impossible act of zipping up the side whilst balancing on the fork of our chosen tree. It's a snug fit, with me pressed up against Katniss. The packs lie at our feet, strapped to the branch by the end of Katniss' coil of rope. The other end of the rope anchors Katniss and me to the trunk, making sure we don't slide off to our death during the night. Weird and uncomfortable as it is, staying the night with Katniss feels strangely like home. The heat of another person on my back and the tickle of her breaths remind me acutely of all the nights spent with my family, huddling up close to shut out winter's winds.

I miss them all. So much.

We sit in silence. Somehow talking doesn't seem like the right thing to do at this time of day, when the sun is setting and the sky streaked red in remembrance of those who've passed. I look out through the leaves to the place where Thresh should be, thinking of how different this day would've turned out if only I wasn't too chicken to go and find him. So much for not allying with anyone because my mind may lapse into madness. Katniss fidgets beside me, her fingers knotting and unknotting themselves as she stares off into her own distance.

We both jump a little as the Panem seal flashes across the sky, accompanied by the first blaring notes of the anthem. Today is another death-free day. There's still ten of us left, and already an entire week has passed. The Capitol will wreak havoc soon if nothing's going to happen. I just know it, and it terrifies me to even think about the cruel things they'll undoubtedly try. I still haven't forgotten the year where they flooded the arena, or the one where they sent an army of mutts to tear the tributes apart.

"Rue," Katniss starts, whispering into my ear.

"Hmm?" I turn to her, taking in her careful covering of her lips and the way she tilts her face into the shadows. My own hand comes up to the front of my mouth, shielding my words even though the anthem is very loud.

"I only woke up today," she continues, her voice low, "How many nights did I miss?"

"Three...no, two nights," I reply, counting in my head, "The girls from Districts One and Four are dead. There's ten of us left."

There's a silence as she takes in this information. Neither of us says a thing about it, but the fact looms overhead like a raincloud. _We killed them with the tracker jackers._

"Something strange happened," she speaks again, slower this time, "At least, I think it did. It might have been the tracker jacker venom making me imagine things. You know the boy from my district? Peeta? I think he saved my life. But he was with the Careers."

"He's not with them now," I tell her before I can even think about what I'm saying. I have no idea whether Peeta's still with the Careers or not. True, I didn't see him at their camp where the District Three boy stands guard, but that means nothing because I didn't see Marvel either and I'm pretty sure he's still part of the pack. But somehow I just _know _that Peeta's not with them. Maybe it was the kind look in his eyes when he let me go, or the fleeting love crossing his face when he looked up at Katniss in her tree. And plus, the tracker jacker venom may have driven him in the opposite direction. I know he was stung because I still haven't forgotten his slurred screams at somebody on that morning of the incident.

"You sure?" she whispers, her voice curling as her eyes betray her desperation for me to say yes.

"Uh huh," I say, telling her as much truth as I know, "I've been to their base camp by the lake. They made it back before the stingers knocked them out. But he's not there, at least not while I was around. Maybe he did save you and had to run."

She stays silent. Up above, the chords for the last verse of the anthem resonates. I look at her downcast eyes, waiting for a response.

"If he did, it was all probably just part of his act," she utters finally, shaking her head, "You know, to make people think he's in love with me."

I cock my head, mulling over her words. She mustn't believe a single thing she says, because even I, little Rue who has never really been in love, can tell that Peeta's genuine. He has the softened kind of look that I've seen my parents give each other aplenty, the wordless confession of 'I love you'.

"Oh," I tell her eventually, "I didn't think that was an act."

"Course it is," she dismisses my words, attempting a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, "He worked it out with our mentor. Without my consent, but not like that matters to anyone."

The last notes of the anthem ring out, and then the glowing seal dissolves into utter darkness. Katniss has stopped speaking, and I don't dare to push the topic on. I can feel her sitting up and reaching for something at our feet, and by the time she reclines back my eyes have adjusted to the dark enough for me to make out her face.

"Let's try out these glasses," she says, straightening out the frame and slipping them on. As she looks around the night forest, she gasps, her fingers reaching for mine.

"My god, you're right," she whispers, her voice full of surprise, "I can see a skunk a good fifty feet away, as though it's daylight. And there goes a mother bat and her baby. Sheesh, I wonder how they made these."

She passes them to me after she has her fill, and I carefully put them on. They're a bit loose on me, the bridge sliding down my nose slightly. With one hand holding the glasses in place, I glance around the trees, holding my breath. I've used these things before, but every time they never cease to surprise me. There's something magical about being able to see in the dark, something deep and powerful. And everything's so different under the faint glow of the moonlight, undertaking on a kind of ethereal beauty. I watch an owl spans the night sky for a long moment, secretly jealous of its freedom.

"I wonder who else got a pair of these," Katniss says, jolting me back. I slip the glasses off my face, returning them to Katniss. She puts them on and does a survey of the area before putting them back in her pack, momentarily satisfied that we're alone.

"The Careers have two pairs," I reply, suddenly recalling two similar pairs of glasses lying on the Careers' supply pile, "But they've got everything, all packed down by the lake. And they're so strong it's terrifying."

"Oh, we're strong too," she says, adding as I shake my head in disbelief, "Just in a different way."

"Well, you are. You can shoot and hunt and survive," I tell her, "What can I do?"

_Besides getting others killed and leaving my friend because I am too much of a coward to stay. And going crazy and even thinking of murder._

"You can feed yourself," she says simply, "Can they?"

"They don't need to, do they?" I retort, "They have all those supplies."

"But say they didn't," she argues back, "Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last? I mean, it is the _Hunger _Games, right?"

"Yeah," I say, but I'm not fully agreeing just yet, "But Katniss, they're _not _hungry."

"No, they're not," she concedes, "That's the problem."

And it's a problem that we can't really do anything about. Katniss' hand is still on mine as she sits in silence, no doubt thinking about the Careers and their apparent lack of hunger. I nearly jump out of my skin when she squeezes my hand, her voice suddenly taking on a new edge of excitement.

"Well, I guess we'll have to fix that problem, Rue," she tells me, and even in the darkness I can see the glint of a half-born plan in her eyes.

"How are we going to do that? Blow it up?" I say jokingly, not fully believing in whatever scheme she's planning.

"I don't know yet," she admits, "But it'd be way better if we could eat the food ourselves. Then again, as long as they starve too then I'm happy."

"I don't know if I want the same," I say hesitantly, "Starving is painful, and it's a horribly slow death."

"Oh, it won't kill them," she says, "Just weakens them a bit, that's all. Besides, they'll probably kill each other before hunger can even do a thing. Those Careers are nothing but blood-thirsty beasts. It'll level the playing field, at any rate. Since the rest of us probably have nothing to eat anyway."

"Well, I guess in all fairness they shouldn't be able to have so much food," I concede, "But hopefully we won't have to totally destroy it. Food's hard enough to make, and wasting it's such a sin."

"Yes, hopefully," she repeats, stretching her arm over her head and snuggling a little more into the sleeping bag, "Well, good night, Rue. Big day tomorrow, so we better sleep."

"Night, Katniss," I reply, pulling my arms inside the sleeping bag and curling up a little.

It's strange to sleep without the pair of socks over my hand, but it's warm enough tonight to leave them rolled up in my pack. Katniss turns over, so that her knees touch the back of mine and her arms brush my shoulders. I close my eyes, imagining the figure of Ma behind me instead of Katniss. She used to crawl into bed with me when I was younger, holding me and stroking my hair to keep away the nightmares. She'll probably be doing the same to Willow or Violet now, or even little Fern. Katniss' breath tickles the back of my neck, and one of her arms drape over mine. From her even breathing she's already asleep. I let myself float with her into the land of dreams, my body relaxing totally for the first time in days. Her calloused fingers rise to stroke my hair, and that gesture jolts me a little.

"Katniss?" I whisper, my hand about to come up to still hers because we are, after all, almost strangers, even though we're allies and friends.

"Shhh, Prim," she murmurs, her fingers hovering by my face, ready to wipe away any tears, "It's okay, I'm here."


	39. Chapter 39: Fly, Mockingjay

She's still asleep by the time I wake up, her dark eyelashes translucent in the early light. I free my hand from inside the sleeping bag and pull the zipper back slowly, careful not to wake Katniss up. The sky's streaked orange as I leap down from the branch. Katniss rolls over slightly as I leave, shivering a little as the cold morning air touches her.

My backpack remains where it is, plump and content next to Katniss' own. I only take the stone knife Thresh made as a kind of self-protection, because I am convinced that I'll return soon. This time I'm just venturing out a little to look for some breakfast. This time I'm going to come back as soon as I find food. This time I'm not going to run away like I did with Thresh.

There's a marshy area close by the grove of trees we spent the night in, and after some scouting I manage to find some nests. There are spotty eggs and tiny ones, but in the end I chose two big eggs whose shells remind me of the blue-tinged duck eggs. There are actually four eggs in the nest, but two's enough for Katniss and me. Besides, it'll be better for the mother bird to have some children growing up, rather than to lose all of them.

As the sun fully emerges from the horizon, I make my way back to Katniss, two large eggs bouncing in my pockets. The climb up the tree proves almost impossible, but I make it to the branch across from Katniss unscathed, the blue eggs still perfect and whole. Her eyes are closed still, her brows scrunched up with worry lines, and so I take the eggs from my pockets to place in my lap. Their shells are perfect and smooth, still a little warm from the embrace of the mother bird's breast some moments before. I trace the crooked veins that run across the shell, a spider web of lines that are almost invisible in daylight.

The boom of the cannon jolts me in my seat, and the egg nearly slips out of my hands. Katniss sits up from the branch opposite me, her entire body on alert. She looks at me with bewildered eyes, and I return her gaze with the same look. We say nothing. Silence stretches on, and I almost suffocate from holding my breath for the next cannon shot, but nothing comes.

"Who do you think that was?" Katniss whispers to me, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

_Please, don't let it be Thresh. Or Peeta for that matter; just for Katniss' sake._

"I don't know," I reply, "It could've been anyone. I guess we'll know tonight."

"Who's left again?" she asks, "There's ten, yeah? Well, that'll be nine now."

"The boy from One, both from Two, the boy from Three," I list, counting off my fingers, "Thresh and me, and you and Peeta."

They're all the tributes I've seen alive so far. I'm missing two, but I can't recall who they are.

"That's eight," Katniss says, looking at the two remaining fingers on my hand, "Wait, there's also the boy from Ten, the one with the bad leg. He makes nine. Who else?"

I try to flip through my brain like a picture book, looking for the faces of the tributes who have lit up the skies almost nightly. But everything is muddled up, and I just can't place my finger on the last living tribute. Or perhaps newly-dead tribute, depending on who that cannon was for.

"I wonder how that last one died," I muse, my fingers cupping the egg.

"No telling. But it's good for us. A death should hold the crowd for a bit. Maybe we'll have time to do something before the Gamemakers decide things have been moving too slowly," she replies matter-of-factly, then perks up with interest as she scrutinise my full hands, "What's that in your hands?"

I uncurl my fingers to reveal the blue eggs, holding one out towards her. "Breakfast," I tell her simply.

"What kind are those?" she asks me, taking the offered egg and rolling it in her palms.

"Not sure," I say, "There's a marshy area over that way. It's probably some kind of waterbird, but they look like duck eggs so I thought they'd be alright."

"They look good," Katniss says, smiling at me, "Thanks for breakfast, Rue."

It would be the perfect breakfast to have the eggs cooked, but we both though it would be too dangerous to light up a fire. Instead we resort to eating the eggs raw, sucking out the whites and the yolks through a little hole at the top. It's a little cold and slimy, but the yolk is rich and the egg filling. Katniss unwraps one of the leaf bundles to reveal two rabbit legs, and I offer up a handful of berry. It's the best breakfast I've had inside the arena so far.

It doesn't take long to pack the sleeping bag and rewrap the coil of rope, and before the shadows grow too short we are ready to go. I slide down the tree before Katniss, readjusting my pack as she follows. At the base of the tree she swings her pack on her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with some plan as she looks my way.

"Ready to do it?" she asks.

"Do what?" I say, but from the way her voice curls up with excitement at the end of that question, I know that we are in for some kind of adventure. And even though this is the Hunger Games, even though it's "do or die", I feel like I'm back at home again, about to go on some grand imagined quest with Raven or my siblings. The feeling's exhilarating.

"Today we take out the Careers' food," she says grandly, her eyes trained on my face for some kind of reaction. Those seven words that she just said sound exactly like the start of a great adventure.

"Really?" I burst out before I can stop myself, "How?"

"No idea," she laughs, turning around and beckoning me to follow her, "Come on, we'll figure out a plan while we hunt. Two brains are better than one, eh?"

She is really wicked with a bow and arrow, even better than I expected. In the space of a couple of hours, she manages to take down two more rabbits and a plump bird. It's more than I could ever do alone, but she brushes my compliments aside and tells me that this is just an average day of hunting for her. In between the shooting and the tiptoeing around the prey, Katniss asks me a lot of questions about my time in the arena. I skip over the first few days with Thresh and Felix to jump straight to the parts just before the tracker jacker incident, but it becomes apparent that she's only really interested in the Careers. This interest probably has something to do with her plans for the destruction of the Careers' supplies, but when I ask what the plan is she doesn't tell me. But when I mention having seen their base camp, she prompts me to describe every single little detail about it.

"The boy from District Three?" she asks, her brows arched in surprise as I tell her about Jaxon and his patrols, "He's working with them?"

"Yes," I nod, "It looked like he stays at the camp full-time. He was there when the others came back from the jacker tracker incident, marching around the supply pile. I guess they agreed to let him live if he acted as their guard. But he's not the macho type like One or Two. He's pretty skinny, and not very big."

"What weapons does he have?"

"Not much that I could see," I tell her, "A spear. He probably could hold the two of us off with that, but he doesn't look like an expert. And Thresh could probably squish him like a bug before he can even throw the thing."

"And the food's just out in the open?" she says slowly, narrowing her eyes in concentration as I nod, "Something's not quite right about that whole setup."

"I know," I tell her, "But I couldn't tell what exactly. It's like there's an invisible trap around the pile or something. And besides, if we ever get to the food, how would we get rid of it? The supplies must weigh a tonne!"

"Oh, we could burn it," she says, "Or dump it in the lake. Soak it in fuel even!"

"Eat it!" we both say at the same time.

"Eat it, eh?" she says, poking me, "Seems like great minds think alike."

We both burst out laughing. In a perfect world, of course we would eat it. But then again, in a perfect world the Hunger Games wouldn't exist.

"Don't worry," Katniss says as she eventually manages to stop laughing for long enough, "I'll think of something. Destroying things is much easier than making them."

We give up on hunting as the morning turns into noon. Katniss' kills are enough to last us for the next couple of days, and we're talking too much to successfully corner preys anyway. I take her to the marshy area where the waterbirds live, and there we dig roots and gather berries and greens. She asks me a great deal of questions about myself, my family and my home. And in turn, she answers all my questions about her. I come to know Katniss as though we've been friends for much longer. She tells me about her mother and her Primrose, adding here and there a description of her deceased father. She talks of hunting back at home and the company of a boy called Gale, and in a hushed voice she paints the picture of a market called the Hob and holes in the electric fence surrounding her district. District Twelve sounds a lot freer than my home town, where the thoughts of foraging in the meadows inside the fence is forbidden, let alone wriggling under it to escape to a whole new world.

"So what do you love most in the world?" I ask her as her voice takes on that soft nostalgic note.

"Prim," she says immediately, smiling at the sound of her sister's name.

"No, not who," I say, "What."

"Oh, well I guess my bow and arrows," she replies, "Or else my father's hunting jacket. What about you?"

I consider for a long time.

"Music," I finally tell her.

"Music?" she says, a little incredulous at my choice, "You have a lot of time for that?"

"We sing everywhere," I tell her, "At home, and at work too. I've loved music ever since I could remember."

I tell her about my parents and the way my family's filled with music, from Pa's early morning whistles to Ma's late night lullabies. I tell her about the mockingjays and the way they sang with me, and I tell her about the four-note whistle that has become a tradition in our orchards.

"Here, you take it," she says at the end of my story, unclasping the pin from her breast and holding it out to me, "It has more meaning for you than me."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head and closing her fingers over the offered pin, "I like seeing it on you. That's how I decided I could trust you, you know, because how different is a human mockingjay to a bird one? Besides, I have this."

I pull the wooden pendant out from my shirt, holding Raven's roughly-carved present out for Katniss to see. Without it lying over my heart, I feel surprisingly empty and disarmed. I tuck it back under my neckline as soon as she gets a good look at it.

"It's a good luck charm."

"Well, it's worked so far," she remarks, pinning her own token back on her shirt, "Maybe we'll just stick with these."

As lunch comes, we have a plan in mind. I sketch out a vague map of the arena as I remember it, using a stick as a pencil and the flattened dirt as paper. If we time it all correctly, there should be just enough time to travel through the woods and put our distraction strategies into plan. We'll have to split up, with the role of the distraction maker falling to me. Katniss will be camping by the Careers' food stash, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy it all. It'll be dangerous, but right now it seems like the only way to really move these games forward in our favour.

By early afternoon half of the plan has been set up. We've gathered enough wood to build two large campfires, unlit until the right moment. I've got Katniss' matches in my pocket and a map of my distraction route imprinted on my mind. There's going to be a third fire too, but we're running out of daylight and so I'll be building that on my own.

"Are you sure you have enough food and matches?" she asks me for the third time.

"Yes, I'm sure," I tell her, "We've divided everything in half. I'll be fine, Katniss."

"Tonight, back by the tree where we ate yesterday?" she asks again, sounding very much like Ma.

"Uh huh," I say, "I'll meet you there as soon as all this is over. Promise."

She nods, somewhat satisfied with my promise. But then her face takes on that worried look again, and she bends down to unzip her backpack.

"Here, take my sleeping bag," she says, pushing the soft bundle into my arms.

"What about you?" I ask her, pressing the sleeping bag back in her hands, "Won't you be cold?"

"Not if I pick up another bag at the Careers' place," she tells me matter-of-factly, unzipping my backpack and shoving the sleeping bag inside, then adding with a grin, "You know, stealing isn't illegal here."

After I manage to recite back the details of our plans without any flaws, Katniss smiles a little and picks up her pack. It's almost a silent signal to go, the swinging orange pack landing with a soft thump on her back. Suddenly it's good bye time, and I find myself desperately clinging to whatever time is left. I know it's not forever, but there is a chance one of us won't make it back tonight. It's this possibility of never seeing her again that turns my stomach inside out.

"Katniss?" I say.

"Hmmmm?" she asks, looking me in the eye.

"Umm... I... I think it'll be a good idea to have a signal," I manage to say, "We could use my mockingjay signal, the one I told you about."

I purse my lips to whistle the four notes, and Katniss mimics it almost to perfection. Strangely enough, not a single mockingjay sing back. Perhaps they don't live in this part of the arena.

"It might not work," I tell her, "But if you hear the mockingjays singing it, you'll know I'm okay, only I can't get back right away."

"Are there many mockingjays here?" she asks, looking up to the treetops.

"Haven't you seen them? They've got nests everywhere."

"Ah, I guess I haven't noticed," she admits, before straightening her spine and preparing herself to be off, "Okay then. If all goes according to plan, I'll see you for dinner."

I straighten my back too, trying to keep my composure. But the child within me creeps back out, and before I know it I have my arms around her. My head only reach up to her shoulder, my ear pressed against her heart. I hear my own fears in her thumping heartbeat, and I wrap my arms tighter around her waist. After a moment, only a very short moment, her arms come around my shoulders too. And we stand like that for a little while, before we absolutely have to let go and get on with our plans.

"You be careful," I tell her, wanting to say more but words fail me.

"You too," she says, before she walks away.

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**A/N: And we're finally here :) It will really be a week or two before I can post the next part, but from here on the ending choice will be slowly unveiled. Everyone voted for different things on the poll, and they're all quite close, so I've taken an executive decision :D**

**Enjoy, m'dears xxx**


	40. Chapter 40: Stuck

Okay, so you may or may not want to bite my head off for disappearing for the last two months. I am so sorry! But I am back now, for at least the next month or so, and I swear I will try to finish this! If you are reading this, thank you for sticking with me :) And to GunRecon, thank you for checking if I'm still alive xD I am!

* * *

The way back to the first fire seems incredibly long now that Katniss' not by my side, her warm voice busy in conversation. I walk for a little while, keeping to the shadows. Here in the silence, all those thoughts that I've tried to banish return in full glory, and once again I see reminders of my first tributes friends in every leaf and every shaft of light. Under the watchful eyes of Thresh and Felix, a pair of golden brown and a pair of summer blue, I begin to really grasp at the magnitude of what I'm about to do. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, although this time it's not only from excitement but from immense fear. If this goes wrong, we would be screwed in so many ways. There's no better way to set the Careers hot on our heels than to fail this, and alongside the temperamental wrath of the Gamemakers, it would guarantee a painful death for both of us. Probably sooner rather than later.

I reach the first fire within what feels like fifteen minutes, arriving to face the huge pile of firewood stacked perfectly. They are mostly pine and other evergreens, the barks and branches of all the trees that I've been taught to steer clear because of the amount of smoke they generate. Grabbing the flint stones from my pack, I squat down beside the base of the fire. A spark catches on after my second try, shimmering weakly as it tries to clamber up the pile. Stepping over to a nearby tree, I use my knife to pry at the loose bark and take the flaking sheet back to my fire. Fanning with all the vigour I can muster at the dying spark, I mentally will the stack to spontaneously combust. Finally, when the muscles of my forearms are screaming for rest, the fire flares and smoulders. Coughing slightly, I grab my backpack and move on. The curling smoke follows at my back, prickling at my eyes and bringing up fresh tears. With one arm out to make sure I don't collide headfirst, I run.

I have to force myself to stop as I reach the site for the second fire, biting my lips against the strong pull of adrenaline urging me to run to the end of the world. My heart is pumping a million miles an hour, and my fingers are jittery as I try to grasp my flint stones. It is easier this time around, the instantaneous cloud of smoke smothering everything within sight, blinding and choking me. Holding the edge of my shirt up over my nose and mouth, I stumble out of the clearing and try to keep to the shadows. It's dangerous on the ground, but I couldn't risk climbing. The rising smoke cuts at my eyes and throat, and it was all I could do not to throw up the entire content of my stomach.

A mile or so away, where the smoke becomes just a slight haze in the breeze instead of a suffocating blanket, I lost control. Throwing up behind a tree, I will myself to breath. Two fires were down and only one more to go, yet this whole scheme still feel so surreal. I try to calm my shaking hands and to ignore the pulsing of my temples, but it makes little difference. Sliding down into a sitting position, I rest my head against the trunk of an evergreen, pretending that I cannot hear the nagging voice inside my head that demand I keep on moving.

I wonder how Katniss is going.

The thought of that girl with her braided hair gets me on my feet. She wouldn't be the one to feel this terrified about a plan. She would make sure that everything works out, and she would be glad to play her part. I try to put on Katniss' skin and get on with my part of our plan. But even though my feet are moving, even though I am making my way towards the third fire, I cannot untangle the huge knot of unease inside me.

Daring as our plan is, it is hardly brilliant. When I am brutally honest with myself, our plan is nothing more than the spontaneous idea of two girls drunk on a few seconds of courage. What if my distraction fires don't work? And what if they do work and the Careers manage to catch me? What if Katniss can't do it? What if the Careers are a step ahead of us all this time? I don't even know what Katniss plans to do once she finds the food supply. Our plan is just so well thought out.

I shake my head, trying to focus on nothing more than the crunching leaves underfoot. My habit of overthinking everything is getting my nerves shot. At the third site, I wander around snapping off branches and gathering curling bark to build the fire, glad for a moment of consuming work without the suffocating smoke. This third one is smaller than the other two, because without Katniss it had taken me longer to gather everything than I had originally thought. But it will have to make do, because judging from the position of the sun in the sky, the lighting of this fire is long overdue. Strike my flints together and watch as the sparks catch, silently thankful for the breeze that guides the smoke the other way. Brushing my hands together, I stand up and walk away.

A fair way off, I scale up a tree, deciding that the distance between me and the last fire is safe enough. From the top branches, I can see the fuming columns of grey, all three swirling angrily against the blue sky. The first, the closest to the Careers' camp and where Katniss is, has dwindled a little. Perhaps the Careers are there now, trying to hunt down the maker of the flames. I keep my pace along the treetops, jumping deftly from one branch to another, fuelled with the need to keep moving. My throat is still prickled with the sharp tang of ashes from the smoke and the sour aftertaste of the throwing up episode, no matter how much water I drink. I have no idea of my exact location, only that I'm heading vaguely in the direction of our camp. I wonder if Katniss is back already, having stealthily destroyed their rations. My mind wanders to possibilities of burying supplies, or dunking it in the middle of the lake.

An earth –shattering boom sets my wonderings to an end.

For a moment my fingers dig into the tree bark, thinking that it is Katniss' cannon. But it couldn't be, the cannons were never this loud before. The ground shakes a little beneath me, as though I'm experiencing an earthquake's aftershock. She must've done it then, destroyed the Careers' supplies by blowing it up. At least I hope it was her.

For the first time since I set foot in this arena, I lower myself onto my knees and pray. _Please let that be the supplies, not Katniss. Please, PLEASE, _I beg to whatever god listening. The forest remains silent. Not a single chirp. My heart sinks in the absence of mockingjay calls. But nothing comes, not my four-note whistle that I taught Katniss or any garbled birdsong.

_If you hear the mockingjays singing it, you'll know I'm okay, only I can't get back right away._

Shakily humming an old tune, I try to stop myself from going down that train of thoughts. Slowly the sickening fear subsides, and I am once again on my way. Taking my bearing from the slanting shadows, I head back in the direction of our meeting place. Retracing my steps, I head back towards the third fire, aiming to pass by the second then the first, and finally back to where we stayed the night before.

The suffocating smoke from the third fire has thinned by the time I return, the burning branches crumbling as they turn to ash. My eyes water at the hint of smoky evergreen hits me. Grappling at the trunk, I debate the idea of climbing back down and walking this leg of the journey. There would be less smoke closer down, but the thought of being so vulnerable on the ground makes me baulk. I stay put, stepping ever so slowly from one branch to another. At the edge of the clearing, more smoke greets me.

The glowing flame of a torch passes by beneath me, and I shrink back as the Careers tumble towards the fire, their voices loud and their eyes manic.

"Search everything!" the authoritative voice of Clove screams, "Cato, scan the trees with your glasses! Red equals heat, and heat equals our little culprit!"

"Damn it, I know Clove!" he yelled back, "Infrared glasses are child's play."

"Marvel, circle the area!" Clove continues to order, "Make sure nothing leaves here unnoticed. If the little twat is still here, it's not going to be able to get away."

Armed with a torch and a spear, Marvel walked the perimeter of the clearing. I press myself against the trunk as he comes closer to me, gulping at the sight of his glinting weapon. As if he knows I am here, Marvel stands guard at the spot right beneath where I am, his spear pointed out. Illuminated by the glow of his flame, his eyes shine hard as they scan the area. No doubt his ears are also perked, listening to the merest rustle in the leaves. With the others silent and intent on their search, one false move from me and I am dead.

Cato and Clove pass by my spot twice, their eyes trained on the trees. My heart thuds like crazy inside my ribs, because no matter how quiet I am, I cannot hide my body heat from their glasses. And crazy as it sounds, Marvel becomes my saviour. The heat off his torch hides me well enough, and soon District Twos walk away again.

"Nothing?" Clove asks finally, taking off her glasses to wipe the sweat from her brows.

"No, nothing," the other two reply.

"Back to camp?" Cato asks her, mopping his face with the hem of his shirt.

"Well, there's not much of a camp to get back to," she says, "Might as well stay here. I swear the twat's here somewhere, it's just that we're not looking hard enough."

"Women's intuition," Cato says, shaking his head whilst walking off to gather some branches to build a fire, "There's nothing here. We've combed the place. You're just paranoid, Clove."

"Say what you will," she replies, annoyed, "Tell me, have I ever been wrong before?"

"Something tells me the correct answer is 'no'," says Marvel as he walks towards the remnants of my fire, then added under his breath, "even if it means we're lying."

Bickering and teasing each other, the three remaining Careers build up a neat fire, stacking the branches with lightning speed as darkness closes in. They scan the area one last time with their infrared glasses before lighting the fire, not wanting to roast their eyes with the coming heat.

"There!" Clove hisses as she grabs Cato's arm, looking a little to the left of where I am, "Huge glow, it has to be a person."

"I know, I can see," he whispers back, "No need for a running commentary."

She gives him a little shove as she makes her way out of the clearing, clearly fed up with his smart-ass comments.

"Stay here, just in case it decides to come back," Cato tells Marvel as he picks up his sword, "We might be gone a while."

Following his district partner, he sprints out off the clearing, leaving Marvel alone with a spear and a torch. As their footsteps fade, I let go of the breath I am holding. At least there's only one left on my trail now. My backpack digs uncomfortably into my spine, but I dare not shift on the branch. With no one to talk to, Marvel is silent and all the more alert to any noises made. The night grows colder, and I fight the desire to take out my sleeping bag (the first time I have one too!). At the centre of the clearing, Marvel has climbed into his own sleeping bag and has extinguished his torch. Without lighting the fire. I can only imagine Clove's wrath when she returns and find out that they have to use flints to light up a fire at midnight. But perhaps he feels insecure about lighting a fire at night like the rest of us tributes do. It's a blaring sign screaming "I'm here! Come and get me!", and I guess without his Careers cronies his courage has dwindled.

Up in the sky, the Capitol seal reappears as the anthem starts to play. The face of the District Three boy appears, then fades to give way to the District Ten boy. As the last chords ring out and the official seal disintergrate, I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. Thresh and Katniss are okay. Even if I'm not

I shift my position on the branch as Marvel's breathing evens, my brain skipping ahead to the possibility of escaping here whilst he's sleeping. No such luck. He sits upright at the slightest rustle of my clothes, and I am forced to remain where I am. When he gets up much later to find a privy in the bush, I scramble up on my stiffened limbs and try to get away. An owl hoots and flaps its wings, masking the noises I make as I slink away from the clearing. Then abruptly it stops hooting, its wings in a flurry as it flies away.

Silence. Followed by footsteps, much lighter than Cato's but not as fleeting as Clove's. Below me, a dark silhouette walks, pausing here and there to peer up at the dense leaves. I hold my breath until he goes away, back to where his one-man camp is. Exhausted and hungry, I slump back against the trunk, not daring to even unzip my pack and take out a handful of food.


End file.
